


Beekeeping and Husbandry

by Meggory



Series: Beekeeping and Husbandry AU [1]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Mace Windu Unfucks the Timeline AU, Medical stuff, Other, Qui-Gon Lives, Romance, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 135,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/pseuds/Meggory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changes.</p>
<p>After barely surviving the Theed Generator Complex, Qui-Gon discovers this truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

As Qui-Gon Jinn lay dying in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s trembling arms in the deserted melting pit in Theed, gasping through the pain of his ruined body, Mace Windu collapsed in the middle of a Council budget meeting. The Korun’s face grimaced, flickering between pain and horror as he twitched and writhed on the cool tiles of the chamber floor. Seconds turned to long minutes; Healers were called while the other Councilors gathered around him, murmuring with deep concern.

“Master Mace,” Depa Billaba called him, her soft voice urgent. This was not a Shatterpoint. This was something different and frightening. Her Master was moaning in terror. “Master, come back to me!”

 The moment her hand pressed against his shoulder, Mace snapped open his eyes. In the wild, vivid memories of red and black, shards of glass, identical faces, and death—so much death, the death of everyone—he fisted his hands into Depa’s robes and started to sob.

 

*

 

It was dark, but someone was reading aloud—from the Holonet, or was it a book? He turned his head to find out, only to discover his muscles refused to obey. He tried to blink, but it took effort, and he was rewarded with a blurry slash of dim light and the agonizing feeling of sand rubbing beneath his eyelids. He hissed.

 The voice immediately stopped its litany. A pause, then, “Qui-Gon?”

 The blur changed colour, and Qui-Gon felt a gentle hand rest on his cheek. He still could not move his head, but maybe he could force his lips to open. “Obi-Wan?”

 A gasp that sounded suspiciously like a sob answered him, thick with tangible joy and relief. “Yes, Qui-Gon, I’m here.” The young man’s voice was pitched low, as if he did not dare speak any louder. “I’m here, and you’re here.”

 “Where did I go?” Qui-Gon asked. His mind felt like it was full of fog and cobwebs. “Where are we, Padawan?”

 He felt Obi-Wan’s hand leave his cheek and press against his palm. “I need to fetch the Healer, Master.” Qui-Gon could hear the sudden, gentle tease in his words. “Don’t go anywhere until I return.”

 While Qui-Gon could not have left the medical bed he was obviously occupying, it was a struggle to not slip back into sleep. His eyelids were made of stone, weighing them down. He was about to let them slide closed when Obi-Wan’s warm hand wrapped around his again. A different voice spoke, soft and rumbly and a bit familiar.

 “Oh, Master Jinn, I’m so pleased to see you awake! Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

 “Fuzzy,” he replied. “I can’t really move.”

 “Not surprising, Master Jinn, given how long you’ve been … asleep. I’m going to wipe your eyes so they aren’t so blurry, alright?”

 “Yes.” He shut his eyelids, and he felt the gentle pressure of cotton against his lashes. Blinking rapidly, the scene slowly focused for him.

 Obi-Wan stared at him, concern and relief naked on his face. He wore his tunics without tabards or cloak, and there was something else different about him that Qui-Gon could not place. The Chitanook Healer, he finally recognized as Obi-Wan’s crèchemate, Abella. She was making notes on a data reader while she checked his intravenous lines. There seemed to be lines everywhere, including one in his chest.

 “Do you know where you are, Master Jinn?” Abella asked while she recorded his vital signs.

 “No, other than I’m clearly in a medical facility.”

 She hummed to herself. It sounded like a large insect. “Do you remember what happened to put you here?”

 He tried desperately to clear some of the clouds infesting his brain. _Red and black, and pain, so much PAIN_. Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan flinch and realized he was not shielding. He squeezed his Padawan’s hand, which really only twitched against Obi-Wan’s palm. “Sorry, Obi-Wan, I can’t—”

 “I’m not expecting you to have shields right now,” Abella interrupted. She offered him a toothy smile. “We’ll save that for tomorrow. What do you remember, Master Jinn? The more you talk, the better off you’ll be.”

 “The Sith. We were fighting him. I–I was tired, and I made a mistake.”

 Obi-Wan huffed without amusement. “You could call it that. You’re a gods-damned fool, Qui-Gon Jinn, and the only reason I’m not yelling at you right now is because I’m too happy you’re awake.”

 Qui-Gon took in the dark circles under his apprentice’s eyes, and the new lines carved in his forehead, and said cautiously, “How long have I been here?”

 Abella and Obi-Wan exchanged unreadable glances. Qui-Gon stared at the young man, trying to figure out what was different about him.

 “Four months,” Obi-Wan said quietly, without looking him in the eye.

 The long, beaded braid was gone from behind Obi-Wan’s ear.

 “Who the hell Knighted you while I was unconscious?!”

 

*

 

They had never left Naboo. Abella told him with clinical, detached accuracy exactly what his body had suffered, and the frankly frightening list of organs he had needed cloned and replaced: diaphragm, left lung, esophagus, a handful of major blood vessels, and his heart.

 “You have a million-credit body now, Master Jinn,” Abella teased, trying to lighten the shock on the older Jedi’s face. “The Council will be garnishing your grand-padawans’ stipends.”

 She had lifted the head of the medical bed so he could sit up. The muscle weakness in all parts of his body was rapidly becoming tiresome. Abella held up a mirror so he could see the scar he could not raise his hand to touch. He caught a glimpse of his face, too, and a gaunt ghost with a nicely-trimmed beard stared back at him. “Even with bacta treatment, the wound refuses to heal cleanly.”

 “I can see that.” A dark, purplish mass of scar tissue, circular and the size of his fist, marred the centre of his chest. Someone had done their best to stitch together the cauterized edges of the hole left by the Sith’s lightstaff. “Why not a skin graft to cover the wound?” _It would have been less disturbing to look at._

 Abella sighed and offered a foreign gesture that radiated helplessness and frustration. “We tried, actually. Twice. There is something about this wound that resists treatment. I’m hoping to get ahold of that lightstaff and do some research. I don’t know if it was the weapon itself, or some trick of the Sith that corrupted the wound, but I am going to find out,” she said, her voice hard with determination.

 “Sounds like work to do in-Temple,” Qui-Gon hinted dryly.

 “Not any time soon.” Abella eyed him with that expression all Healers possess when their patients say something they find ridiculous. “You can’t board a ship until you’ve regained your basic muscle tone and function. You need to walk out of here under your own power.”

 “Then let’s get started.” Qui-Gon took a calming breath and focused on wiggling his fingers and toes for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

*

 

 

Dusk had fallen on the medical ward, which Qui-Gon had learned was a diplomatic suite that Queen Amidala had ordered converted for his continued use. The heavy, brocaded drapes were pulled back on the two tall, narrow windows, letting the light from the rapidly darkening sky fall on Qui-Gon’s medical bed. He watched weeping trees sway in the gentle, warm breeze, enjoying the feel of the Living Force, when a soft, hesitant knock at the door interrupted his light trance.

 Obi-Wan poked his head into the room. “May I come in?”

 “Of course,” replied Qui-Gon. As Abella had instructed, he did his best to turn his head, but only moved minutely towards the younger man. Even in the dim light, he could spot the small but obvious signs of anxiety in his Padawan: a furrow between his eyes, a tightening of his lips. “What’s wrong, Obi-Wan?”

 Obi-Wan surprised him with a slight chuckle. “Why did I even think you wouldn’t notice?” he said wryly. “I have to go, Qui-Gon. The Council is sending me on a mission of some urgency.”

 “Tonight?”

 Anxiety flittered into resignation. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve delayed them longer than I should have, I fear.”

 “You, put off the Council?” he asked, half in jest and half in deep surprise, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile that transformed his apprentice’s—former apprentice, he reminded himself—face.

 “All those lessons in insubordination finally sank in. Besides, who knew that if you kill a Sith, the Council will happily gift wrap a bantha and deliver it to you in person if you even mention you once dreamed of owning one?”

 They shared a laugh, easy and familiar, but Qui-Gon could sense the impending finale of their Master-Apprentice relationship. It was inevitable. It had to happen, but as Qui-Gon gazed at the young man, pride filling his heart, he wished he could have kept him for just a while longer.

 “A credit for your thoughts,” Obi-Wan said.

 “Oh, I’m just regretting that my apprentice is too competent for my own good. Go on, complete your mission and you can tell me all about it later while I relearn to walk.”

 Obi-Wan gently took Qui-Gon’s hand and could not quite look him in the eye. “The mission is undercover. I go dark, and I cannot have any contact outside the prearranged signals with my handlers. I won’t be able to even send you a letter, Qui-Gon. I’m sorry.”

 “How long?” It came out sharper than he had meant, but Obi-Wan simply sighed and tightened his grip on his Master’s hand.

 “One standard year. Depending on the outcome, it could be longer.” His free hand came up and pressed Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but my transport is leaving, well, five minutes ago. I have to go now, Qui-Gon.”

Had he been able to, the Jedi Master would have engulfed his newly-minted Knight in a hug. Instead, he squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand as hard as he could. Obi-Wan squeezed back. “May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Safe travels.”

 As Obi-Wan closed the door behind him, Qui-Gon lay in the darkened room and felt something in his mind, like a plucked string under tension. He managed to focus inward, dust away the cobwebs that still threatened to take over, and find the source.

 A delighted grin slowly crept over his features.

 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, normally the source of his daily badgering to follow the rules, had neglected to sever their training bond upon his Knighting.

 

 

 

Notes:

This story is partially inspired by [Suzukiblu's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/profile) delightfully imaginative headcanon Mace Windu Unfucks the Timeline, in which Mace has a vision of what is to come and takes Anakin as his Padawan instead of Obi-Wan and proceeds to do insane and right things.

The character of Jedi Healer Abella is on gracious loan from [Flamethrower](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/profile), and can be found in her full Healer glory in [Re-Entry](http://archiveofourown.org/series/10129) and [Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills](http://archiveofourown.org/series/11260). If you haven't read them, what are you still doing here?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon learns that getting off Naboo is becoming the least of his problems.

Other nagging feelings chased him through his muddy dreams that night. When he woke, feeling Obi-Wan’s absence keener than the moment he left, he felt as though there was something he had forgotten. Something important. Abella was checking his vitals and muttering about testing his swallowing capabilities and taking him off nutrient feeds. He listened to her gentle rumble for a moment, then gasped. Abella jumped a foot off the floor in surprise, then glared at him. “Anakin! Oh, Force, what happened to Anakin after the Sith?” Given the High Council’s reaction to the poor boy, Qui-Gon half-expected to discover Anakin had been sent back to Tatooine.

Abella did not meet his panicked gaze and instead concentrated on rehanging a intravenous bag filled with clear liquid. “He’s fine, Master Qui-Gon. He’s safely in-Temple on Coruscant.”

“They accepted him into the crèche?” he asked in disbelief. That had been his most important goal before the Sith, and now he was stuck on Naboo, unable to do anything for himself, let alone Anakin. He never thought the Council would accept the boy without him there to fight them.

“Well, no.” Abella paused to note something on his chart, and he had a strong suspicion that she knew the answer but was trying to avoid revealing the truth. “You will have to speak to Master Windu about it, and as your Healer I don’t want you taxing yourself. No subspace communications. The High Council has been informed of your status and are awaiting our return as soon as I say you are ready, and not a moment before. You can talk to him in person.”

“Yes, Master.” Grumpy sarcasm was all he had at the moment, but Abella just offered him a sweet smile adorned with razor-sharp teeth.

“Now, since I know that you are a venerable Jedi Master, let’s get you walking before you bribe the palace staff to smuggle you out of here and onto a transport.”

 

*

 

Thank the Force for its gifts, thought Qui-Gon as he stood, steady but already wishing for a chair, waiting for the transport ship’s loading ramp to hit Naboo ground. It was two weeks to the day since he awoke to the sound of Obi-Wan reading, and not a moment too soon to leave. Theed was a beautiful city and would be even lovelier once the damage was repaired, but Qui-Gon could not help but look forward to seeing the planet in orbit. He needed to get to Coruscant, to make certain Anakin was being looked after, to argue for his entry into the Jedi Temple.

He shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other, and Abella eyed him sideways. The Chitanook was proving herself as a competent Healer who would happily ignore her patient’s pleas for mercy in order to get just one more step, one more movement repetition, out of him. He pitied the child she would take as an apprentice. “I’m fine,” he assured her, but his words were drowned out by the hiss of pneumatics.

The ramp was barely touching the ground before a figure in Jedi robes hurried planetside. Qui-Gon suddenly found himself in a tight embrace from an old friend. “Tahl? What are you doing here?”

The Noorian Master untangled herself from his cloak and beamed down at him. Her sightless eyes, still beautifully striped with green and gold, fixed upon his. “Oh, you know, picking up some idiot who nearly got himself killed by a Force-blighted Sith. You may know him. About seven feet tall, long hair, beard, and absolutely no brain cells to rub together during a fight?”

“It can’t be that bad if you’re making jokes,” he replied, but her face hardened.

“I’m serious, Qui-Gon. I am extremely cross with you. I was going to finish the job before I saw Obi-Wan’s transmission to the Council.” She bent down and grabbed the single travelling bag he had to his name. Before he could protest, she started towards the ship. “I’m not letting you carry anything. Half your chest is full of baby organs.”

Bewildered but delighted to see his friend, Qui-Gon followed her up the ramp. “You didn’t actually answer my question. Surely the Council didn’t send me a second babysitter? Abella is doing a fine job of that.”

“Not everything is about you, Qui-Gon Jinn.” Tahl led him through the narrow corridors of the ship, turning every now and again at junctions, until she stopped at a closed door. “This is us. We were unfortunate enough to hitch a ride on a cargo run, and there’s only one berth left.”

She palmed the door open. Qui-Gon saw another humanoid lying prone on one of the stacked bunks. “Sorry, were you sleeping?” Tahl asked quietly.

“No, just resting. Hyperspace travel gives me a headache.” Qui-Gon could not help but stare at the last person he expected to see today. Shmi Skywalker sat up in her bunk and gave him a tight smile. “Greetings, Master Jinn.”

“Lady Skywalker.” Finding himself at a loss for words, he tried to bow, and ended up doubled over in excruciating pain. Both women were instantly at his side, fussing over him, while he breathed slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth to dissipate the feeling of his torso being torn apart. “I’m fine, fine, just--just let me sit down.”

Tahl and Shmi each took one of his elbows and helped him to the nearest bunk. “I’m going to fetch Abella to make sure you didn’t just set back your recovery by being polite,” Tahl told him before whirling out the door.

Shmi watched her go with an unreadable expression. “She really is very upset with you,” she said in that unflappable voice he remembered. It seemed like it was not too long ago that they had stood, discussing her son and his potential.

“Yes. The more upset she is, the more difficult it is for her to be serious. Or nice.” Qui-Gon very gingerly peeled away his tunic as best he could, glad to not be wearing his full Jedi garb, to check on the lightstaff wound, which was throbbing hatefully. He prodded the edge and found bright red blood smearing his fingers. Shmi’s eyes widened a touch, and from somewhere in her pockets she produced a packet of absorbent material in a sterile wrapper. She offered it to him but did not move any closer to him.

“Master Tahl told me briefly what happened,” she said quietly. “That should have healed by now.”

Qui-Gon nodded absently while he ripped open the gauze. With a stifled hiss, he blotted the edge of his wound. It was only a tiny tear, barely bleeding. “The Healer doesn’t know why it won’t heal completely.”

“I’ve seen cuts that refuse to close,” Shmi told him. “There are plants that poison the body in this way on Tatooine. Men come into Mos Espa with hurts that never heal. Some of them live, if the hurt is small. Some of them die.”

“That isn’t exactly comforting,” he grumbled.

“It was not meant to be.”

He finally glanced up at her and took in her posture. She had her arms crossed under her breasts, her face impassive, as if squaring herself for a fight. His brows furrowed in confusion as he asked, “Lady Skywalker, have I done something to offend you?”

Shmi levelled a look at him that would make hardened Jedi Councillors flinch. “Master Jinn, you gambled with the life of my nine-year-old son. For all that he and I agreed to it, you were still the one in the position of power, dangling freedom from slavery and a Jedi’s life in front of both of us. Ani commed me about what happened in the meeting with your elder Jedi. He told me that you swept your apprentice aside in favour of Anakin without hesitation.” Her gaze hardened further, her eyes turning to chips of flint. “I am sorry for your suffering, but I can only hope that it causes you to reflect upon your heart and discover if you actually like who you have become. Perhaps you’ve been given a second chance. Use it wisely.”

She turned and walked out the of the small berth, radiating a serenity he certainly did not share. He lay down carefully on his bunk, his thoughts swirling in a strengthening maelstrom. Had he really been so callous, so dismissive? He had done what needed to be done—the Nubian cruiser had needed parts, the Naboo leadership needed to reach Coruscant to stop an invasion, Anakin was too remarkable, too dangerous, to be left on Tatooine, to be left without a Jedi Master …

_You could have petitioned for Anakin to join the crèche. You could have asked another Master to take him. Your options were not so limited that you had to abandon Obi-Wan in front of the entire High Council!_

The growing realization of what he had done clenched his chest and tightened his throat. He needed to meditate on this. After a few calming breaths, Qui-Gon was able to focus on the remaining thread of his bond with Obi-Wan. It was faint, either because Obi-Wan was shielding very tightly, or because they were both in hyperspace. He touched it gently, hoping Obi-Wan would feel their connection, but he got no response.

He closed his eyes and attempted to meditate to calm his increasingly troubled mind.

 

*

 

Tahl and Bant, her Mon Calamari Padawan, badgered him into joining them in the tiny mess for all the meals until they reached Coruscant. He did so reluctantly, since Abella approved but Shmi would watch him in stony silence. Tahl, being Tahl, pretended not to notice. “Bant and I were doing some research on Alassa Major, and then suddenly we’re being dispatched to the charming and sandy backwater of Tatooine, accounts full of wupiupi, with instructions to buy a slave from a Toydarian junk dealer. I thought Mace might have lost his mind. He still hasn’t told me why he wants Lady Skywalker here brought to the Temple.”

Shmi shrugged imperceptibly, but said nothing as she popped a piece of bread into her mouth.

“I guess we will find out soon enough,” Qui-Gon said mildly. He decided to change the subject. “Haven’t you been Knighted yet?” he asked Bant, who lifted her head proudly and blushed slightly.

“No, Master Jinn, but Master Tahl has recommended me for my Trials. I hope to be allowed to attempt them soon.”

“Do, or do not, Padawan.”

“Yes, Master.” Bant rolled her silver eyes.

Tahl turned to face Qui-Gon. He found it amazing that she could do so every time without fail despite her blindness. “At least my Padawan won’t have to defeat a Sith by herself and then somehow heal my mortal wound enough to keep me alive and nearly kill myself in the process.” Sensing the disbelief rolling off of him, she raised her eyebrows almost to her hairline. “You didn’t hear that part, I take it?”

“I’ve been told surprisingly little, and remember even less,” he said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his words. He did not think he had ever been this eager to reach Coruscant before. Mace Windu owed him a very long explanation.

Abella entered the mess just in time to overhear. “I’m sorry, Master Qui-Gon. The Healers overseeing your case from the Temple want you to be comfortably at home and under the care of a Spirit Healer before you get filled in on the details.”

“Spirit Healer?” He buried his face in his hands in frustration. At this rate, he was never going to be fit for duty.

“You’re setting a bad example for my apprentice,” Tahl said primly. “You almost _died_ , Qui-Gon. Of course you need to see a Spirit Healer. I saw one after Melida/Daan. If you try to get out of it, I’ll sit on you.”

Abella, of course, nodded emphatically. Her crest of fur bobbed with the movement.

Spirit Healers. Those singular creatures whose cry of “how does that make you feel?” made him cringe in horror. He was a private person, a Jedi Master completely in control of his faculties and the Force—

—who had single-mindedly put a little, innocent boy in harm’s way.

—who had cast aside his own Padawan for another in public.

—who had sprinted into single combat with a Sith, knowing he was too tired to win without Obi-Wan by his side.

Shmi was watching him again, unflinching and peeling away the layers of his soul without uttering a word.

_Oh, Force, help me._

He hurriedly pushed away from the table and excused himself in the calmest voice he could muster, citing exhaustion. They had at least another day until they reached Coruscant. He needed all the meditation he could get to stave off the panic rising him. Shmi Skywalker had been right. What kind of man had he become?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I've unfridged Tahl. She deserves it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon returns to the Temple and things quickly unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a therapist. I don't play one on TV. If you'd like to skewer me about the ins and outs of existentialist counselling, feel free to send me a message.
> 
> That being said, I'm in the market for a beta reader. If anyone is interested, please message me privately!

Qui-Gon made his way down the transport’s ramp onto the landing platform and was grimly pleased to see Mace Windu waiting by the Temple entryway. The Korun looked tired, with deep grooves pulling his mouth into a resting frown. Dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. “Master Jinn, welcome back to Coruscant,” Mace said formally as Qui-Gon approached. He offered a half-smile. “You look good for a dead man.”

“Why, thank you, Master Windu.” Mace motioned for him to precede him into the Temple. Qui-Gon looked back to see if his travelling companions were following, but there was no sign of them. He wondered, sourly, if Tahl was purposely leaving him alone with Mace. “I would like to know what has happened to Anakin.”

“Straight to the point, Qui-Gon?”

“I’ve had more than enough time to wonder since no one will let me talk to anyone else about anything, it seems.”

“You can’t take the boy as your apprentice.” Mace’s voice was flat steel.

Qui-Gon stopped in the middle of the corridor, ready for a very public argument. “Why not?” he demanded, standing up a little straighter to gain the advantage in height over his opponent.

“Because I’ve already made him my Padawan,” Mace replied, lowering his voice but not softening it. “And before you cry foul, Qui-Gon, I had a vision. Not a Shatterpoint, but a true vision of what would happen to this boy. To the Jedi Order. To the galaxy. He’s my apprentice because I will not, under any circumstances, let that vision come to pass, and it is not up for debate.”

The two men glared at each other—High Councilor unbending and the rebellious Master disbelieving. A young Padawan with beads clicking along her tail passed them, her gait hurrying as she tried to escape the tension as quickly as decorum would allow. As she moved past Qui-Gon, she squeaked and bolted down the corridor, decorum abandoned. Qui-Gon could sense the protectiveness and care Mace was feeling in regards to Anakin. Having a fist fight over a nine-year-old wasn’t going to solve this, so Qui-Gon quirked his eyebrow.

“Poaching a Padawan is considered bad form, Mace. And are you really buying slaves from the Outer Rim now?”

Mace flicked his hands in dismissal. “Take it up with my secretary. I had a vision.” Qui-Gon suddenly had an inkling of what the High Council must feel when dealing with his less-than-conforming ways. He was not certain whether to laugh or wince. Finally, Qui-Gon smothered a chuckle that tried to escape, resumed his impassive Jedi Master face, and began walking again. Mace joined him, easily keeping up with Qui-Gon’s long stride, and continued, “Anakin has been asking to see you ever since he heard you were coming home. I will allow you two to visit with the following provisions. You will not, under any circumstances, mention the Prophecy of the Chosen One to him. Even a mention of balance in the Force, and I will dump you on the farthest Outer Rim hellhole to perform local diplomatic attaché work for the rest of your natural life.”

“Understood.”

“You will also not insist on being addressed as ‘Master.’ I’ve instructed him to call you ‘sir.’” At Qui-Gon’s curious look, Mace sighed. He thought the Korun was trying to not roll his eyes. “He’s been a slave his entire life. There is serious anxiety, fear, and other negative connotations that comes with the word ‘master.’ A master was a person to obey blindly, swiftly, so as to avoid pain and abuse. I refuse to let him even consider those things in relation to me or any other Jedi.”

Qui-Gon only nodded. A trickle of horror became a flood for not thinking of that upon his first meeting with Anakin, for not seeing the massive imbalance of power between them. He had been so blind to everything but the boy … And now he was paying for his fixation. He let Mace lead him through the Temple, mired in dark thoughts and self-recrimination, until he suddenly did not recognize their surroundings. “Where are you taking me?”

“New quarters, as requested by the Healers. Congratulations, you managed to acquire the Knight’s room closest to the Halls of Healing,” Mace said wryly.

Qui-Gon could not suppress a groan. He was in for closer monitoring than he had hoped. His badly-healed scar offered a painful twinge. “Wait, why am I being kicked out of my old room assignment? I  _ like _ those quarters.”

Mace shrugged. “Sorry, Qui-Gon. That’s a Padawan suite, and you no longer have a Padawan, or will be in a state to have another Padawan for a very long time, if ever.”

The bluntness of that statement, delivered by an official voice of the Order, hit Qui-Gon like a blow to the head. While he was no longer in the market for a new apprentice—not anymore, thank you, Mace Windu—the idea that he may never again be in a state of health to choose a bright child to teach clenched his heart.  _ Then what good am I, a forever apprentice-less Jedi Master? _

He followed Mace in silence, thoughts heavy and spiralling, all the way to his new rooms. The barren quarters held sparse furnishings and a stack of small crates holding what appeared to be his personal possessions. He ran his fingers along the edge of the plastic and wondered who had packed his things for storage. Had they done so thinking he was going to die? Had they been surprised to have to pull it off the quartermaster’s shelves?

Mace was watching him a touch warily. “The Council wishes to see you tomorrow morning after firstmeal.” He paused, as if deciding if he was going to continue. “Anakin will be free tomorrow, if you wish to visit him, after latemeal, in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. That boy would sit with his feet in the pool until his toes fell off,” Mace said, his tone growing fond.

“Tell him I look forward to our meeting.” Qui-Gon offered a bow of his head, as curt a dismissal as he could give to his superior, and ruined it by biting off an indrawn hiss of pain. Mortal Sith wound really, really, does not like bowing of any kind. Check.

Mace’s expression became concerned, but Qui-Gon waved him off. The High Councilor bowed in return and left Qui-Gon to his solitude.

He contemplated the crates, the pulled off the lid of the top box. The quilt off his old couch lay, folded a touch haphazardly, underneath. He drew the heavy material out, savouring the familiar texture under his fingertips. He brought it to his face and inhaled. A painful stutter wracked his heart, sending him crashing to his knees.

Abella found him five minutes later, sprawled on the floor atop a wrinkled quilt, barely conscious and whispering the name of his newly-Knighted apprentice.

 

*

 

The soft, insistent beeping of a heart rate monitor woke him. He groaned at finding himself in yet another medical bed. “Good, you’re awake,” Abella said. She seemed angry, and he remarked upon it in a soft voice. She glared at him. “You overdid it, Master Jinn.”  _ Oh, so we are back to surnames. This bodes well _ , he thought. “Whatever you were doing taxed your new heart. It’s a newly-cloned organ. You have to take it easy for at least six more months, Master Jinn, or it may never fully integrate with your natural systems. I’m upping your anti-rejection drugs. That means you’re more susceptible to infection, and I’m revoking your off-world travel clearance.”

“I thought you did that already,” Qui-Gon said mildly, trying to interrupt the Healer’s rant before she locked him in the Temple or even the Halls of Healing.

Abella growled low in her throat. “Your heart rhythm has been normal for an hour, so you may go so long as you wear this monitor.” She held up a sticky patch in a sterile package. He nodded and allowed her to carefully apply the datachip-embedded square over his left breast.

As he pulled his tunics back into place, Abella sighed. “I’m sorry if I seem upset, Master Qui-Gon. It’s just—I just finished writing my report for the Council meeting tomorrow.”

“And now your terrible patient is making you revise it?” he teased.

“Yes! No! I mean—” she ran a hand through her crest, “I have to revise my projections and recommendations, and neither of us is going to like it.”

“Tell me,” he ordered firmly.

“You have cloned organs which need time—a lot of time—to stabilize and fully integrate into your body. You were unconscious, both naturally and medically-induced, for an extended period of time and require continued physiotherapy to regain a range of movement that even resembles what you once had. You have a wound made by a Sith that neither I nor any of my fellow Healers can figure out why it won’t heal completely. You may need regular bacta treatments just to keep your injury at the status quo. In plain terms, Master Qui-Gon, you are officially on the disabled list, and I don’t foresee you healing enough to go back to active duty anytime soon, if ever. Your injury and recovery are such that it is not safe nor wise for you to be far from a Jedi Healer. I’m truly sorry.”

Qui-Gon could not speak. The disabled list. That infamous roll of names where Jedi wasted away, fading into uselessness and obscurity, never to darken the galaxy’s doorstep again. Of all the things that he had imagined while awaiting sleep in his darkened room in Theed, ending up on the disabled list for the rest of his days was not one of them. He had assumed he would recover, take Anakin as his new, and likely last, Padawan, and spend his final days as a diplomat. Maybe he would die surrounded by bright-eyed grand-Padawans.

That was gone now. No Anakin. No other Padawan. No travelling the stars. Maybe, now, he would die alone while the galaxy continued on without him, unbothered by his absence.

Abella brought his rapidly deteriorating thoughts back to the present. She narrowed her eyes at him and reached out to grasp his shoulders. “I know this news is less than ideal—”

“What did Obi-Wan do to keep me alive?” he interrupted as the question suddenly occurred to him. “Tahl said he almost died.”

Abella sighed, not with resignation or reluctance, but a sigh of sadness. “He … he did something extraordinary. I can’t tell you the details because I don’t know exactly how he did it, and he refused to give me more information when I asked. I don’t even know if he understands how he did it. Obi-Wan gave you almost all his life energy. When the Naboo guards found you, you were both near death and unconscious. Obi didn’t wake up for a week.”

Aghast, Qui-Gon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  _ Obi-Wan almost died. He never said. He almost died for me. _ He ran a hand over his beard. “Were there any ill effect for him?”

“I can’t tell you that. Patient confidentiality.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she said gently, “You’re not his Master anymore. I can’t give you any medical information or access to his records.”

“Of course,” he replied faintly. A year. He could not even ask for a year. His life was quickly becoming a speeder wreck, and it seemed that Abella had finally noticed.

“Master Qui-Gon, I’m calling the High Council to move our meeting to an hour from now. You will see your Spirit Healer immediately afterwards. You will go to your quarters and stay there until I fetch you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He could not find any more energy to argue with her.

She flagged down a passing apprentice and spoke to her in a low voice. The Togrutan girl glided over and bowed to him. “Zalil will escort you home and keep you company until the Council meeting. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Qui-Gon allowed himself to be led to his empty rooms. The young apprentice kept shooting him extremely concerned glances, but he could not be bothered to reassure her. He could not even reassure himself.

 

*

 

The High Council greeted him with more cheer and excitement than they had mustered up for him in his entire career since being Knighted. It felt to Qui-Gon like a bad omen. Things were never good when even Yarael Poof was being nice to him.

“Glad to see you, we are, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda announced. “Many thanks, the Order owes you. Uncover the return of the Sith, you and Knight Kenobi have.”

Qui-Gon could not stand it. He lashed out. “You Knighted my Padawan without me.” His accusatory tone raised both Adi Gallia’s and Depa’s eyebrows.

“You should have Knighted him a year ago,” Mace retorted. “What is done is done. We have read Healer Abella’s report, Master Jinn. You have sacrificed much in service of the Jedi Order, and you have our thanks.”

“But now I’m a medical liability.”

Mace nodded. A handful of Councilors, Depa and Ki-Adi-Mundi included, had the grace to look slightly regretful. “Even if the Healers lift your travel restrictions and you regain your physical abilities, you have cloned organs that ban you from visiting the majority of the Republic’s systems.”

Qui-Gon had not even thought of that. Cloned organs were illegal on many worlds to prevent the expansion to full-body sentient cloning. Usually the only planets to allow it were close to the Outer Rim, where advanced medical facilities and supplies were far scarcer than the Core, and only the rich and connected could access cloned parts. “So what would you have me do?” He tried not to sound petulant, but it was not quite successful.

Mace Windu, Head of the Jedi Order, actually rolled his eyes. Master Tiin caught sight of it, and his jaw dropped in shock.  _ That must have been one hell of a vision,  _ Qui-Gon mused. “Go teach in the crèche. Write a philosophical treatise. Learn Shyriiwook. Keep bees in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. I don’t really care. You’re on a permanent sabbatical until your Healers lift your restrictions and deem you fit for active duty.”

“Rest, you must, Qui-Gon,” Yoda added with a placating, slightly pleading tone. “Do as your Healers instruct.”

There was no way to argue out of this. With a sigh, Qui-Gon said, “Very well. I will, as you say, find  _ something _ to do. May the Force be with you.”

As he turned to leave that round, brightly lit chamber, Mace spoke again. “One more thing, Master Jinn. We’ve recalled Master Dooku from Serenno. He was gravely concerned for your well-being, and I wish for you to take an interest in his. I fear he has spent too long away from us.”

Qui-Gon quirked his eyebrow, gently inclined his head so as to not aggravate his wound, and made a mental note to corner Mace as soon as possible to find out exactly what  _ that _ meant.

 

*

 

Despite Abella’s best efforts, he still had some time before his initial appointment with his Spirit Healer. He spent his free hour unpacking the crates in his sitting room. Each item earned a thorough inspection for damage before he placed it as closely as possible to where it had lived in his old quarters. It seemed like a good bit of defiance against these new rooms, until he reached the final crate. When he unsealed the lid with a  _ pop _ , he was flooded with the sense of Obi-Wan. Clearly, his apprentice had not been back to the Temple to organize his belongings while Qui-Gon had been unconscious.

His head warred with his heart. He  _ should _ close the lid and give the crate back to the quartermaster to store until Obi-Wan’s return. Instead, he lifted out the top item, a small, wooden box with brass-coloured hinges. He hesitated, fingers caressing the edges of the plain box, before slowly lifting the lid. Nestled in a bed of fluffy cotton batting was the river stone he had given Obi-Wan for his thirteenth birthday. He plucked the stone from its nest, closing his eyes and savouring the resonance of the Force in his palm. It sang to him, speaking of life and green things and stars and of Obi-Wan. The Force-signature of his far-away Padawan felt close enough to touch. Their training bond lay quiet and thin, though; whatever Obi-Wan was doing, his shields were hiding everything but the fact that he was alive.

Little gods, he missed him.

He opened his eyes and replaced the stone in its box and shut the lid. A moment of hesitation wracked him before he placed the box on the couch next to him and resealed the crate. He would not invade Obi-Wan’s privacy any further. Carefully, he tried to lift the crate, but the warning pull of his scar stopped him. An annoyed huff escaped his lips. The crate lifted with the judicious application of the Force, and he placed it in an empty corner behind the bland grey armchair. He would rather hang onto it than trust it to the tender mercies of the quartermaster; he would not want Obi-Wan to return to a lost crate with all his belongings missing and presumed incinerated.

The box next to him found a home on the shelf in the sitting room. The stone, however, he took out again and carefully tucked it into his belt pouch. He felt a little less lonely, a little less bleak.

 

*

 

Qui-Gon found himself rubbing his thumb over the stone as he waited in the Halls of Healing for his appointment with the Spirit Healer. The corridor where he sat on a cushioned bench was so quiet, so still, he heard the Healer apprentice’s soft footsteps long before she turned the corner to approach him. “If you would follow me, Master Jinn?” It was the same Togrutan apprentice who Abella had set on him earlier. She gestured down the hall. Gingerly, he rose and followed.

The Spirit Healer’s office was the most forcibly serene place Qui-Gon had ever experienced. The pale blue walls held narrow shelves sparsely filled with gentle-edged knicknacks. The only furniture the room held was a matching chair and small sofa, upholstered in a smooth cream fabric, and low glass table that held a shallow metal bowl. A group of sanded wooden balls of various sizes, none larger than his fist, filled the bowl. One wall was taken up by a large transparisteel window. The whole picture made Qui-Gon extremely uncomfortable merely because it was designed to put him at ease.

The Padawan bowed. “Master Kyoga will join you in a moment. Feel free to sit.” She did not wait for an answer before backing out of the room and closing the door behind her.

True to the apprentice’s word, the Spirit Healer appeared less than a minute later. The Weequay knocked before entering and smiled, crinkling the leathery skin around his eyes. “Welcome, Master Jinn. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Toro Kyoga. Please have a seat.”

“Master Kyoga,” Qui-Gon replied stiffly, making no move towards the furniture.

Kyoga did not reply. He watched Qui-Gon keenly as he made his way across the room and sat down in the chair. “Do you know why you were sent to me?”

“My Healer requires it.”

“Hmm.” The Weequay leaned back, scratched his ear and asked, “And why are you here?”

“I just told you.”

“No, you told me why you were sent to see me. I want to know why  _ you _ came. The vast majority of Jedi would rather chew off their own foot to avoid seeing me or my colleagues. They would beg for an assignment or a deferral, or straight up miss their appointments. But you—you came, on time, without protest, and have so far been fairly polite. I ask again, why are you here?”

Startled by the man’s abruptness, Qui-Gon took the time to collect himself by slowly sinking into the couch opposite the Healer. The truth, then. He needed to start seeing and telling the truth.

_ Do you actually like who you have become? _ Shmi Skywalker’s words pounded at him like relentless waves against a rocky shore. He was about to crumble into that sea.

“I—I need help, I think.” Kyoga just kept gazing at him, expectant. The stone in his hand was warm and heavy. “I’m not what a Jedi Master should be. I may never be able to serve as a Jedi Master again, but I should at least act and think like one. I want to at least be able to live with myself.”

“Is this how you’re thinking since your injury?” Kyoga asked.

Qui-Gon hesitated. “No. I don’t think I’ve been what a Jedi Master should be for a long time.”

“How is a Jedi Master supposed to be?”

“Not the kind of man who tears apart a family without even thinking of the consequences, or deeply hurts and shames his Padawan in singular pursuit of another.”

“So you want to change. To be a different person?”

“Different,” Qui-Gon insisted. “Better. I can be better than I am.”

“No, you can’t.” Qui-Gon stared at him, confused. Kyoga shrugged and leaned back in his bland chair. “You can only be who you are, Master Jinn. Coming here isn’t going to suddenly turn you into a saint. We can talk about what you have done, and why, and how that makes you feel, and if you want to change your behaviour based on our sessions, that’s your choice. If you want to make amends for your past behaviour, that’s also your choice.” Kyoga offered him a wry smile. “How do you feel about that?”

Too surprised to be sarcastic or defensive, Qui-Gon said, “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good.” A genuine smile carved deep lines into Kyoga’s face. “We will do this together.”

Qui-Gon nodded, feeling strangely light. “Call me Qui-Gon.”

“Very well, Qui-Gon. Why don’t you tell me how you came to be on the disabled list?” The Weequay leaned forward as Qui-Gon began narrating the story of the lone Zabrak and the invasion of Naboo.

 

*

 

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was the most refreshing place in the Temple. Qui-Gon revelled in the sheer life he found here. The Living Force was so strong here among the thousands of plants and insects and tiny creatures. All it needed to be truly perfect was the wind, carrying whispers of the Force on its current; the artificial breeze tasted faintly metallic and said nothing. Qui-Gon wound his way along the gravel path, under the canopy of trees from all over the galaxy. The canopy opened up to the large pool where he spotted Anakin’s bright blond hair on the far side.

The boy had rolled up his leggings past his knees in order to dangle his bare feet over the stone edge and into the clear water. His face split into a huge grin as Qui-Gon approached. “Hi, Ma—Qui-Gon, sir! It’s great to see you!” A short Padawan braid, adorned with a single wooden bead carved in a simple pattern, hung behind his ear. Anakin wore the typical human Padawan haircut along with Jedi tunics. He looked exactly how Qui-Gon imagined he would.

“It is wonderful to see you as well, Anakin.” The boy moved over slightly in the way that children offer a seat. Qui-Gon awkwardly eased himself down onto his knees and was rewarded with a sharp twinge pulling at his chest.

“Does it still hurt?” Anakin asked sympathetically. His searching blue eyes watched the older man’s face closely.

“It’s … still healing. Thank you for asking.” Qui-Gon pointed to the braid. “That looks good on you. Congratulations, Padawan Skywalker.”

Another grin. “Thanks, Qui-Gon, sir! Mace is wizard. He’s teaching me all sorts of neat stuff, like meditating and katas and code slicing.”

Qui-Gon quirked his eyebrow to hide his own smile. “Code slicing?”

“Um, yeah?” He turned his body towards the nearest tree, a large-boled weeping tree with silver leaves, and called, “Mace, am I supposed to tell him about slicing?”

From behind the tree, Mace Windu’s head popped out with a glare for his apprentice. “No. Don’t tell anyone about that. Tell him about, I don’t know, your Core History class.” Mace disappeared back behind the tree.

Qui-Gon looked at Anakin warily, who was taking this all in as if it were completely normal. “What is he doing back there?”

“Oh, he said something about poaching Padawans and something about you kidnapping me. He was muttering and I don’t think I was supposed to hear.” Anakin squinted at him suspiciously. “You can’t kidnap me, you know. It’s illegal.”

For the first time in a very long time, Qui-Gon started to laugh. The dark thoughts tearing at him fled for just a moment, and he fell into the soft grass, howling and not caring how his wound protested. He laughed until tears slipped from his eyes and Mace stuck his head back around the tree to see what was going on. Anakin joined in, seizing the opportunity to be silly. Qui-Gon laughed until he had to stop, mindful of not breaking open his scar. Lying in the grass, he gazed up at the ceiling, cleverly designed to emulate an open, rural sky. He sighed. “What else have you been doing, Ani? Please tell me. I want to hear all about it.”

Anakin settled down next to him. “Oh! Did Mace tell you? He freed my mom! He sent another Jedi to buy her from Watto, and they brought her here to Coruscant! I can see her when I’m not busy with my classes or my training. I’m so glad. I was really worried about her being on Tatooine by herself.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to reply, then stopped himself. Mace clearly had a reason to bring Shmi here, to allow Anakin to continue a close relationship with his mother. This was not a normal Jedi child, raised in the Temple. Anakin was a boy with a deep love for and reliance on his mother, and severing that connection would only bring him anxiety and fear, for her and for himself. What would have happened had Anakin been forced to grow up, to become a Jedi, without Shmi in his life? Would he have hardened himself to the world? Would he have found a substitute, becoming attached in the way that the Jedi forbid, the kind of attachment that leads to blindness to everything except that one person, to sacrificing duty and sanity for the sake of another? Would that had been his fate had Qui-Gon taken him as his apprentice instead of Mace Windu?

He had been thinking too long; Anakin was watching him with a furrow in his small brow.

The Jedi Master turned his head to look at the little boy, and smiled at him. “I’m very happy for you and your mother, Ani. It’s right that you should have her in your life.”

“We’re having latemeal together at the end of the week! You should come, too!”  _ Ah, the generosity of children. _

Mace had finally risen from his hiding spot behind the tree and was making his way over to them. Qui-Gon pitched his voice slightly louder so the other man could hear, too. “That’s extremely kind of you, but I don’t want to impose. I think your mother would prefer having you all to yourself. Maybe next time, alright?”

The glum visage quickly turned back to a smile as Anakin saw Mace approach. “Okay, Qui-Gon, sir. Hey, Mace, can Qui-Gon come to latemeal next week when Mom comes over?”

Mace Windu shot a look at the other man that accused him of putting his apprentice up to asking, but Qui-Gon raised his hands with innocence. “We will see, Anakin.”

“Actually, Anakin, would you mind if I spoke to your M-Mace alone for a moment?” The boy seemed dubious before Qui-Gon added, “Just boring old man stuff. You’ll have him back in a minute, I promise.”

Anakin nodded, said good-bye, and trotted off around the edge of the pool in his wet, bare feet. Qui-Gon wondered idly where the boy’s shoes were, but said nothing. It had been a long time since Mace had had an apprentice, but surely he could handle making sure the child wore footwear.

“What is it, Qui-Gon? I have to follow him to make sure he doesn’t disassemble a housekeeping droid in the middle of the corridor to make it more efficient.”

Qui-Gon rolled over onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself to his knees. Mace held out his hand without comment and helped haul him up into a standing position. Surprisingly, his injury did not protest. “What did you mean about Dooku?”

Instead of the waspish retort he was expecting, Mace sighed heavily and glanced around to ensure they were alone. “It was part of my vision. Dooku featured heavily in it.” The sheer reluctance to be discussing this concerned Qui-Gon immensely.

“Tell me.”

Mace shook his head vehemently. “I don’t think I should. I mean, for all I know, he hasn’t actually done anything yet.” The bald man’s hands clenched into fists and relaxed again. “I just want you to keep an eye on him. He was your Master. Spend time with him. Talk to him. Let him know that the Jedi still care about him, that you still care about him. Tell me if he says or does anything unusual or suspicious.”

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. “Suspicious in what way?”

Mace raised his chin, his voice hard. “Any kind of suspicious behaviour for a decorated Jedi Master fully devoted to the Light side of the Force.” Qui-Gon stared at him, disbelief with what he just heard flitting across his features. “Anything, no matter how small, Qui-Gon, I want to know about it. Dooku arrives tomorrow. Be there to greet his shuttle.”

“As you wish, Master Windu,” Qui-Gon murmured. He watched the Korun man follow the path Anakin had taken and disappear into the vegetation, his thoughts jumbling in his mind about attachment and children, Mace Windu and Dooku. The gossamer thread of the training bond with Obi-Wan was still shielded and silent. He needed some sleep.

 

 

N.B.: The disabled list is something I've come across in a few fics, I think, but if memory serves the first one where I encountered the name is in Flamethrower's [Re-Entry](http://archiveofourown.org/series/10129) series.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Count Dooku returns to Coruscant, and Qui-Gon plants some seeds.

As expected, Dooku arrived on time on the Temple landing platform. He swept down the shuttle’s ramp, dark cloak fluttering in the turbulence of the ship’s engines. To Qui-Gon, he looked old. His hair had silvered completely, both on his head and in his goatee, and purple smudges of exhaustion shadowed his eyes. When his brown eyes lit upon Qui-Gon, however, they were still as sharp and hawkish as ever. A tiny smile touched Dooku’s lips—a grin for any other man. He approached his former apprentice, and to Qui-Gon’s surprise, engulfed him in a tight embrace. “I was terribly worried,” he said in Qui-Gon’s ear, his deep voice rumbling over the sound of the shuttle lifting off.

Qui-Gon clapped him on the back and stepped away from him. “I am sorry, Master. For what it’s worth, I’m trying to not do it again.”

“Oh, my wayward Padawan, that doesn’t mean much.” Dooku shook his head. “I am glad you are all right, however.”

Upon seeing the flash of anxiety that flitted across Qui-Gon’s features, Dooku narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Qui-Gon.”

“Not here, Master. Let us have a cup of tea in my quarters,” he suggested. The privacy of a closed door meant he could likewise pry into the older man’s affairs.

Dooku nodded once and gestured for Qui-Gon to lead the way. In his usual way, Dooku walked in silence next to his old apprentice, giving Qui-Gon the chance to think. While they had never been best friends, he respected his old Master for his ability to stand up to the Council and freely discuss the aspects of the galaxy that he did not agree with, whether it was tenets of the Jedi Order, the workings of the Senate, or how the former was too entangled with the latter. The man was strict and sometimes harsh, but he did care deeply for the welfare of his apprentices. He was, perhaps, a perfect candidate for Falling if he tread too closely to the path of power without the support of his loved ones to ground him.

Once safely ensconced in his quarters, Qui-Gon offered Dooku a seat on his new couch and occupied himself with fixing a tray of tea. As he handled the delicate cups, he was reminded of how many times he had made tea for his master in this same way, and how many times Obi-Wan had made tea for him. He rummaged through the cupboard, searching the meagre, basic foodstuffs that had been waiting for his arrival. Disappointingly, there was no crock of honey, only a few lumps of sugar. He sighed, then prepared the tray with a small pitcher of milk and abandoned the sugar to the depths of the cupboard.

Dooku gave an annoyed _hmph_ as Qui-Gon set the tray down on table in front of the couch. “How long have you been in these rooms?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry there’s no honey. I’ve only lived here two days, and I haven’t had the chance to send my food request to Quartermaster Bridger.” Qui-Gon busied himself by rearranging the cups and saucers, waiting for the tea to finish steeping.

“Hardly an excuse to be uncivilized, Qui-Gon. Tea without honey is a travesty.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, despite knowing fully that Dooku was not making a joke. “Yes, Master. I’ll rectify the situation before your next visit, I promise.”

Dooku motioned for him to fill the cups. “Are you going to tell me what exactly is going on with you now?”

“I’m on the disabled list and I’m currently on a Council-ordered sabbatical,” Qui-Gon told him bluntly. “I have a chest full of cloned organs, I can’t go off-world, Mace Windu poached my next Padawan, and I’m seeing a Spirit Healer.”

Dooku stared at him, eyes wide. “You’re not joking, are you?” he asked in disbelief.

“Why would I joke about this, Master? It’s only my life becoming a complete shambles.” As he poured his tea, his hand began to tremble. Tea slopped over the rim of his cup, and Dooku gently took the pot from him and placed it back on the tray. To his vast embarrassment, Qui-Gon realized he was crying. Unable to stop, he buried his face in his hands and shuddered. He was vaguely aware that Dooku had pulled him close and was stroking his back. He hitched his breath, and his scar _tore_ , leaving him crying out in agony.

“Qui-Gon?” Dooku’s alarmed voice and the pain throbbing in his chest brought him out of his emotional collapse. Qui-Gon motioned to the ‘fresher.

“There’s a medkit in there. I need a sterile cloth.” Dooku disappeared into the ‘fresher, and after a moment of muttering just loud enough for Qui-Gon to hear, returned with a standard issue medkit. He moved the tea tray over and opened the kit. The packages of sterile gauze for staunching bleeding wounds were sitting on top of everything else. Dooku picked one up and glanced at Qui-Gon.

“Do you want me to do it?”

“No, it’s fine. Just open it for me, please.” While Dooku ripped open the package, Qui-Gon fiddled with his tunics. More than a few expletives found voice. “I’m going to have to stop wearing tunics all the time.” He finally managed to expose his scar, and found bright red blood soaking the clothing around it. Dooku managed to keep his impassive Jedi Master face on as he handed Qui-Gon the wad of gauze, but Qui-Gon could feel the horror and pity he was hiding. “I know, it’s hard to look at.”

“That’s not what I was thinking about, Qui-Gon,” Dooku told him, his voice surprisingly soft. “I was thinking about how terribly this must have hurt you, and how close I came to losing my apprentice.”

Qui-Gon found the spot where the scar tissue had pulled away from his healthy skin and held the gauze there with pressure from the heel of his hand. “I’m not your apprentice anymore. I haven’t been your apprentice for a very long time.”

Dooku gave him an odd look that Qui-Gon suspected was affection. “You will always be my apprentice, Qui-Gon, even when you’re as white-haired as I am.” He hastily picked up his teacup and sipped, then grimaced at the taste. “Speaking of apprentices, where is your rule-following brat?”

Dooku and Obi-Wan, who had only met on a few occasions, had an interesting dynamic. The grand-Master pretended to be more terrifying and stern than he actually was, while the grand-Padawan pretended to be even more strict about following the Code, leaving Qui-Gon scratching his head as to why they could not just act like themselves. He suspected that it was a game they played for his benefit, but to what end, he could not guess. Qui-Gon smiled sadly. “They Knighted him while I was unconscious on Naboo, then sent him on an undercover mission the moment I woke up.”

“You miss him.”

“He’s been by my side, been my friend and companion, for twelve years. Of course I miss him. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye because I was stuck in a medical bed, and I won’t see him again for a year.” Qui-Gon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I wasn’t ready to let him go yet.”

Dooku sighed, but his voice was sympathetic. “It is difficult to let an apprentice stretch their wings and leave the nest, but it must be done, for their sake. A Padawan does not belong to a Master forever.”

Qui-Gon eyed him with sudden mischief. “Then what are you doing here, my Master?”

Dooku looked affronted. “I was talking about other Masters, not myself. You will always be my Padawan. I came to see to your recovery.” He paused for a second, and Qui-Gon seized the opportunity.

“You came all the way just for me? I’m flattered, but I’m also find that a little dubious, my Master. You have never in your life done something for only one reason.”

The elder Jedi, suddenly uncomfortable, refused to look Qui-Gon in the eye as he said quietly, “I’m considering leaving the Order.”

“ _What?_ ”

Dooku twisted his cup in his hands. Qui-Gon was suddenly extremely nervous about the signs of anxiety his Master was displaying. Dooku usually kept a tight rein on everything he said and did. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, ever since Komari. After how the Council treated her, and how I went along with it, I can’t bear the thought of supporting them any longer. That’s why I’ve been on Serreno all this time, to avoid doing anything for the Order.”

“I always thought she should have been dealt with differently. Padawans being infatuated with their Masters is hardly uncommon,” Qui-Gon told him gently.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to bar her from her Trials forever; she was going to be an amazing Knight. I just wanted to give her the chance for an unbiased test, so that no one would ever accuse her of passing because I was too easy on her, or, gods forbid, because they thought we were sleeping together.” Dooku glared at Qui-Gon’s slight shift in his seat. “We weren’t, not that it’s any of your business. I followed the rules, because that is what is expected of me as a Jedi Master, and I lost my Padawan forever. How can I keep upholding the rules if they have consequences like that? How can I trust the Jedi Council has the Order’s best interests in mind? Because of them, we all lost a talented and very promising young woman who could have sat on the Council herself one day.” Dooku fell silent, and Qui-Gon did not rush to respond.

He would have to tread very carefully here. One wrong step and he might send Dooku away from Coruscant and the Order forever. Left to his own devices, Qui-Gon had no doubt that Dooku would circle closer and closer to the Dark side; he had always been too concerned with power and strength, in Qui-Gon’s opinion, and without the structure that the Jedi provided, Dooku could easily Fall. But Dooku would never agree to stay with the Order with the way things were now. Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him.

“Why don’t you join the Council and change things, then?” Qui-Gon suggested lightly, trying to make it sound more facetious and less like an actual recommendation. “You could change how we deal with adult Padawans facing a crisis.”

Dooku snorted. “I doubt the Council would want the likes of me. I’m too political for their taste.”

“Too political in that you have made your disgust for the Senate widely-known throughout the Temple?”

“Yes,” snapped Dooku. “I would hardly want to be beholden to the _Galactic Senate_.” Disdain acidified his words.

Qui-Gon busied himself with checking the flesh beneath the gauze, relieved that the bleeding seemed to have stopped. The seed had been planted. A tiny smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

Mace Windu was going to have a bantha.

 

*

 

A quiet, thoughtful stroll through the Room of a Thousand Fountains became a social outing when Tahl caught up to him, slightly winded. “You know that you don’t have to walk so fast with those damned long legs of yours, right?”

Bemused, he paused to allow her to catch her breath. “I was walking alone. I didn’t realize you were stalking me.”

“Not stalking. Following. Stealthily,” she retorted. Her dark, honey-coloured skin glowed in the late afternoon sun. “I haven’t been able to pin you down in two days. I wanted to talk to you before Bant and I head out.”

They started to walk again, her hand wrapped around his elbow, towards the large pool in the centre of the room. The dappled sunlight twisted and danced on the gravel as the artificial wind stirred the trees. “Where are you off to?” he asked, quietly disappointed that his oldest friend would not be around much longer.

“The Jedi Temple on Corellia. They’ve uncovered some new texts at an archeological dig, and they want my help to analyze and digitize them into the collection.” She gave him a regretful look. “I don’t know how long we will be away. But before I go, I want all the gossip on Dooku.”

“Tahl,” he said with a warning note in his voice.

“What? I don’t have time to be coy. What’s he doing back? Did the Council recall him?”

He glanced around, checking for anyone who could overhear. Lowering his voice to nearly a whisper, he said, “He’s thinking of leaving the Order. He only came to check up on me.”

“ _What?!_ ” Tahl hissed.

For the second time in one day, Qui-Gon’s mind offered up a singular, impressive idea. Perhaps he could plant another seed. “I think he would stay if he could be a guiding part of the Jedi Order. He thinks that the High Council is not living up to the expectation of doing what is best for the Order. After what happened with Komari, I rather think he’s right. Some things need to change, especially if the Sith are back in the galaxy.” He paused. “I think I’m going to talk to Mace about it.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn, are you trying to get Dooku on the High Council?” Tahl demanded with more than hint of disbelief.

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“That’s a terrible idea. He’s a snob. He hates politicians. And he doesn’t listen to anyone but you, in case you haven’t noticed.” The sounds of splashing water reached them as they emerged from the trees and approached the pool. Bant was in the water, laughing, as she held up someone in the water. The other figure was completely hidden by frothing bubbles. “Hello, Bant, darling,” Tahl called, waving to her Padawan with her free hand.

Bant waved back. “Hi, Master Tahl, Master Qui-Gon!” The splashing stopped, and Qui-Gon finally recognized a very wet, very happy-looking Anakin Skywalker in Bant’s arms.

“Oh, hi, Qui-Gon, sir! Bant is teaching me how to swim!” The grin split the child’s face in two. Bant towed him to the edge of the pool and helped him out to sit on the edge. The Mon Calamari girl stayed in the water.

“You won’t be swimming for a while yet, Ani,” Bant chided playfully. “You have to learn to stay _still_ in order to float.”

“But I’ve never had this much water just to play in before!” Anakin retorted. “Splashing is fun!”

“Master Windu wants you to learn so you can join the Initiates sometimes when they help the little ones play in the water,” Bant reminded him. “It will help you make more friends.”

“Yes, Padawan Bant.” He finally noticed Tahl, and leapt up from his perch. He gave her a perfectly-executed bow, dripping water and wearing only his bathing suit. Qui-Gon watched Tahl’s lips quirk for just a second before she smoothed her features and bowed back.

“I’m Tahl. You must be Padawan Skywalker,” she said, and the boy nodded firmly.

“Yes, ma’am.” He stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Tahl, ma’am.”

Tahl stepped forward and took his little hand in hers without hesitation. “It’s nice to meet you, too, but just call me Tahl. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old. Why don’t you show us what my Padawan has taught you so far?”

“Okay!” Without a second thought, Anakin jumped feet-first into the water. Droplets rained down on the two Jedi Masters, spotting their robes; they both wiped their faces with the sleeves of their cloaks. Bant hurried to haul him to the surface, spitting out a Mon Calamarian expletive under her breath. Spluttering, but still grinning, Anakin waved at them frantically. “Watch this!”

Qui-Gon led Tahl to a dry, grassy spot to sit. He kept his eye on Anakin, who was demonstrating his kicking skills. “He seems to be a lovely child,” Tahl commented quietly.

“He is. He’s special.” A note of regret must have come through, because his friend sighed.

“Qui, you found him, and you brought him to us. That is important, but not all Jedi who find Force-sensitive children get to claim them as Padawans. Those who go on Search have to give children to the crèche all the time. _You_ already had a Padawan.” Her voice suddenly became hard, but she did not turn her head away from the pool. “You had a Padawan, and he told me what happened. I cannot believe that you pushed him aside like that, Qui. Again. After what you put that boy through at the beginning! It was bad enough you couldn’t just accept him as your Padawan in the first place because of what happened with Xanatos, but to do that to him as a young man at the end of his apprenticeship? How could you?” She huffed out a frustrated, angry noise and abruptly changed the subject. “Did you see the Spirit Healer?”

“Yes,” he replied hesitantly, not wanting to provoke her ire further.

“Well, good. Maybe he can knock some sense into you, because little gods know I can’t. I need to go pack. I’ll see you when I return.”

She did not wait for him to reply before pushing herself off the grass and storming off. With every step she took away from him, his heart sank. Everything she had said was true, and the disgust and frustration in her words were exactly what he deserved, but it was worse coming from his oldest, most trusted friend. She knew how to cut him. The fact that Obi-Wan had confided in her meant that Obi-Wan had not felt able to talk to him about the whole situation.

 _I'm … I'm sorry for my behavior, Master. It is not my place to disagree with you about the boy. I am grateful you think I am ready for the trials._ An apology. After everything that Qui-Gon had said, and everything he had done to push Obi-Wan away during those last moments before the duel on Naboo, Obi-Wan had tried to make everything better by _apologizing_ to the person who least deserved it. And Qui-Gon had accepted it as his due with a distracted, underwhelming compliment.

Anakin was ducking his head under the water and blowing bubbles, to Bant’s delight.

The halting words he had spoken in what should have been his last moments flooded back into his mind. _Promise me you’ll train the boy._ Nothing. He had said nothing to his beloved apprentice, nothing to comfort him in his moments of helpless agony. Instead of reassuring Obi-Wan, he had placed upon him a burden he had no right to ask, a burden Obi-Wan clearly would not have been ready for. Shame and guilt roiled in his belly; he had to leave, to be alone, away from anyone who might ask him what was wrong or look at him sympathetically. He stood, mindless of the protest from his ill-healed injury, and fled into the deep shade of the trees.

He walked aimlessly through the forest garden, not caring where his feet took him as his mind reeled. Birds quieted as he passed, fleeing his upset aura. The Living Force was screaming at him in warning to stop, to sit, to quiet his mind—

A sharp sting just below his ear instantly pulled his attention back to the present. His hand flew to his neck. In the palm of his hand, a single yellow and black winged insect writhed. He could feel its pain in the Force, a tiny eddy of confusion and hurt, until its delicate, transparent wings and fuzzy shoulders stilled. It was dead. Why had it died? Suddenly, nothing seemed more important that finding out what this tiny creature was. The skin under his ear throbbed, but he ignored it. He had to find the Garden Master. The Force was there, nudging him down the path, and his feet answered.

Naniqi Sa’laka was bent over, weeding under the base of a thorny shrub, when Qui-Gon finally found her. At his approach, the Caamasi raised her golden-haired head and twitched her snout. “Master Jinn, what is wrong?” she asked, concerned for the Jedi who spent more time in the gardens than anyone.

He held out his cupped hand. “It’s dead,” he said with a thick voice.

She stood and approached him, and reached out to pluck the insect from his hand with her long fingers. “Oh, dear. Did it sting you?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and pointed to the swollen lump under his ear. She inspected the skin, frowning. “The stinger is still in there, Master Jinn. It needs to come out right now. Can I help you with this?”

Again, he nodded, and watched her fish a pair of silver tweezers out of one of the many pockets she had on her canvas apron. Quicker than he expected, she reached for his neck with the tweezers and brought her hand back again. “There. Done. Some folks say not to use tweezers, but I just like to get the stinger out fast. It will hurt for a while, though. I suggest putting some ice on it. If it stays swollen, or you have any other symptoms, go straight to the Healers. Some humanoids are allergic to honeybee venom.”

“Honeybee?” She had finally piqued his interest. “That’s what that was?”

She laughed gently. “You’ve never seen a bee before? Surely a well-travelled Jedi Master would recognize the creature that gives us honey.”

“Why did it die?”

Naniqi sighed and gazed sadly at the little insect in her hand. “When they sting, they leave behind the stinger, as well as parts of its digestive system and abdomen. It causes massive trauma. Why did it sting you? The honeybees we have in the Room are quite gentle; unless you were poking the hive with a stick or some foolishness, it should have left you alone.” She looked up at him with an intense look he could not identify. “Were you, perhaps, feeling some strong emotions?” When he did not answer, feeling ashamed, she patted his arm. She continued, her voice full of compassion, “Bees are very Force-sensitive, you know. This one may have stung you because it felt whatever it was you were feeling.”

“It was my fault, then,” he whispered. Just add that tiny creature to the long list of things he had destroyed in his life.

A long silence fell between them. Naniqi suddenly said, “Master Jinn, I heard you were taking a sabbatical. I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me with a pet project of mine here in the Room.”

He glanced at her, trying to be politely interested, all the while mourning the little bee he had killed. “What is it?”

“The bees, Master Jinn. I’d like to make them a tree hive, but I’m so busy tending everything else in the gardens that I don’t have enough time to do so. They would be so much happier in a tree. You have such a gift with the Living Force. I think the bees would take kindly to you. Would you consider it?”

The voice of Mace Windu echoed in his ears. _Keep bees in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Find something to do._

Qui-Gon gave Naniqi a small smile, the heavy, dark clouds lifting a bit from his soul. “That sounds very intriguing, and I would be delighted to assist you.”

 _There you go, Mace. You can’t tell me I never follow your orders._ His smile widened just a fraction.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon gets a question, an apology, and an invitation.

Qui-Gon paced the length of the transparisteel window, squeezing the river rock in his hand and saying nothing for ten minutes. Kyoga, too, said nothing. He waited patiently for the outburst that finally came.

“Can we meet somewhere else? I hate this room,” Qui-Gon spat in frustration.

The Weequay shrugged. “Of course. There’s no rule that we have to stay here. Where would you rather talk?”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment. “The Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

“All right,” Kyoga replied, rising from his chair and settling his cloak around his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

The two men crossed the short distance from the Spirit Healer’s office to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Kyoga let Qui-Gon set the pace and the path; Qui-Gon led them away from the deep shade of the forest towards the gentle rise of the grassy hill. The narrow path wound up to the top, hidden in the tall green and gold spikes of speedgrass. Qui-Gon lowered himself to his knees, settling in a meditative pose next to a patch of delicate purple wildflowers. Kyoga joined him, also on his knees, and once again waited.

“Everything I tell you is confidential, correct?”

“Of course, Qui-Gon. Even my patient notes are encrypted.”

“I don’t know how to deal with all of this,” Qui-Gon said quietly, his head still gazing out at the spectacular view of the Room.

“All of what, exactly? I know you’re not talking about the Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

“Every time I turn around, someone or something is reminding me of the horrible things I’ve said or done, and my scar is always hurting, and now I’m trying to keep my Master from leaving the Jedi Order. I can’t talk to Obi-Wan because he’s on a long mission, and all I want to do is hear him laugh,” he blurted, glad to have it out.

“That’s a lot to have on your plate. How are you feeling about it?” Kyoga asked, seeming genuinely interested. It was nice to finally have someone who would let him speak.

Qui-Gon sighed heavily. “Confused. Hurt. Lonely. Annoyed.” He finally looked over at the Spirit Healer. “Angry.”

“Let’s unpack all that, shall we? You’re confused about what, exactly?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again to think. Was he actually bewildered by Tahl and Mace being blunt about things that were true, and had really happened? “I suppose confusion isn’t really it. I’m upset about the things my friends have been telling me, and I don’t understand why they’re saying these things now, when every aspect of my life is in limbo.”

“What have they been telling you?”

“Mace told me that I likely will never have another Padawan because of my injury,” he replied sourly.

“Is this untrue?” Kyoga’s dark eyes held no clues to the correct answer.

“I don’t know. For the foreseeable future, it is true. I’m not able to teach any of the physical training a new Padawan requires, and I can’t go out on any missions.”

Kyoga scoffed. “That hardly means you won’t ever take another Padawan. There are plenty of other Knights who would happily teach an apprentice whose Master could not personally oversee such training. My own Master sent me to Corellia to take courses with the Healers there because I was specializing in an area in which she had only basic training.”

This was the first time Qui-Gon had actually considered the idea. In the past, he had overseen all of his apprentices’ training, and it had never occurred to him to ask another to give their time and attention to his Padawan. Many Masters handed combat training over to other Jedi when their apprentices chose to specialize in a different lightsaber form than their own. “I guess I never thought of that. My anger clouded my ability to consider the situation,” he admitted.

“Are you angry with Master Windu for talking about the reality of your injury?”

Qui-Gon clenched his fingers into fists. “Yes! No! I-I just wish he had waited longer than five minutes after I stepped off the transport to start dictating the parameters of my life.”

Kyoga made a sympathetic noise at the back of his throat. “Lousy timing aside, Master Windu was not lying to you, or purposely trying to hurt you. He did not consider the impact of his words, only the intent,” he said gently. “Are you angry because you’re having difficulty facing the truth of your current circumstances?”

“Of course I am!” Qui-Gon snapped, his voice harsh. “I’ve gone from being a respected Master of the Jedi Order, in demand by dozens of worlds who require my skills and knowledge, to a useless creature who can’t leave the Temple because my mostly illegal heart might stop. I can’t even hold a lightsaber properly.”

“It sounds to me like you’re angry at your new limitations,” Kyoga said. “It’s normal for a person to be angry that they can’t do all the things they used to do after sustaining a life-threatening injury. It’s a major change in your life. It will take time to adjust to your situation. That doesn’t mean that you can deny what has happened to you. You almost died. Not only do you need to recover from the physical aspects of a massive trauma, but there are emotional aspects, too, and not just for you. Your friends are also coping with what happened, Qui-Gon. They were afraid for your life, of losing you before they were ready, and people who are afraid say and do things that normally would not be appropriate or timely.”

“Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering?” Qui-Gon replied wryly.

Kyoga wrinkled his nose. “More like fear leads to loved ones being assholes when you least expect it.” The Weequay smiled broadly when Qui-Gon huffed a small laugh. “Who else has been speaking to you? You implied more than one person has been lashing out at you.”

“Master Tahl. Do you know her?”

“Not personally, no, but I’m aware of her.”

Qui-Gon picked one of the purple flowers next to his knee and began plucking the petals from the centre. “She’s my oldest friend. We grew up in the crèche together, and she knows me better than I know myself.” The petals fluttered to rest on the bent grass. “She told me something I hadn’t ever considered: that Obi-Wan never felt secure in our apprenticeship because I didn’t wholly accept him as my Padawan when we first met. I dismissed him as being too angry, too volatile. I couldn’t bear the thought of taking on another child who could …” He trailed off, not wanting to talk about Xanatos, but Kyoga was unrelenting.

“Who could what?”

“Fall to the Dark Side,” he whispered, as though speaking of it would somehow make it more likely for anyone who heard.

Kyoga was silent for a moment, contemplative, while Qui-Gon shredded another flower. “That is a harsh criticism,” he finally said. Before Qui-Gon could defend Tahl, Kyoga continued, “It is a harsh criticism of yourself, Qui-Gon. I want you to consider this carefully before our next meeting: are you responsible for the actions of other sentient beings?” The Weequay master rose from his seat in the grass, brushed off his knees, and bowed slightly. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning at 1000 hours.” He turned and picked his way down the hidden, grassy path, leaving Qui-Gon with a mind laden with heavy thoughts.

 

*

 

The door chime surprised him out of a difficult meditation. He rose, groaning at the pull of his scar, and palmed open the door. Tahl stood in the doorway, travelling bag slung over her shoulder and wearing the heavy woollen cloak she wore when space-bound. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was quiet. “Can I come in? I only have a few minutes before I need to be on the landing pad.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside, giving her enough room to clear the door without bumping the door frame. She dropped her bag by her feet and sighed.

“I came to apologize, Qui. I said hurtful things when I should be supporting you. What I said was true, but this is not the time to discuss it.” She held out her hands, plaintive, and he took her slender fingers in his own. “It has been such a long time since I was on the disabled list that I forgot how difficult it is to adjust to a sudden physical change. It took me a long time to figure out how to be myself again without my sight. It will take time for you to adjust, too, my dear. I,” she took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose, “I was so scared for you. I thought my best friend was going to leave me. I’m sorry I was such an ass.”

He chuckled, thinking about what Kyoga had said, and pulled her close for a tight hug. “Apology accepted. It means a lot that you came in person and didn’t just leave me a comm message.”

She drew back and made a face. “What kind of animal do you take me for?”

“Be safe on your journey. No swoop racing on Corellia,” he admonished.

“You and Bant are exactly no fun,” she replied with a grin. She ducked her head slightly and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “You can always comm me if you need someone to talk to, okay? And for the love of the little Force gods, keep an eye on Dooku. I don’t know what you’re plotting, or what Mace Windu has going on around here, but if Dooku’s seriously thinking about leaving the Order, you need to convince him otherwise. He’s better off one of us than he is out in the galaxy left to his own devices.”

Qui-Gon nodded emphatically. “Believe me, Tahl, I know. I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’ll let you know when I’m coming back.” She plucked the bag off the floor, turned to the door, and felt the wall for the panel. “Don’t stop seeing your Spirit Healer.”

He barked a laugh. “Yes, Mother.” As she walked over the threshold, Anakin Skywalker came tearing up the corridor and skidded to a halt in front of her. He was promptly the focus of disapproving stares from two Jedi Masters.

“Uh … slow down, right?” The boy at least had the grace to look sheepish.

“Yes,” they replied sternly in unison. Tahl continued, “Make sure Master Piell doesn’t catch you running in the halls. He will make you run the circuit of the entire Temple from the outside.”

“Guess how she knows that?” Qui-Gon whispered conspiratorially.

Tahl offered him a withering glare, but smiled brightly at Anakin. “Ask him about the time Yoda used him like an eopie for a week.” With a jaunty wave, she strode away towards the landing platforms.

Anakin was looking at him with a mixture of expectation and horror. “I’m not telling that story,” Qui-Gon said flatly. “Were you looking for me, Anakin?”

“Oh! Yes, sir. I’m to bring you to latemeal. Mace’s orders.” The boy’s face was such a picture of determination that Qui-Gon could hardly argue. A flitting of realization crossed his sun-tanned features, and he asked, a little timidly, “You don’t have plans already, do you?”

Qui-Gon patted him on the shoulder. “I do not. Lead the way, Padawan Skywalker.”

The brilliant smile Anakin gave him was enough to warm his heart. “Will do, sir!” The pair started down the tiled hall, and Anakin kept glancing at Qui-Gon surreptitiously.

“Is there something you would like to say, Ani?”

“I had my first lightsaber lesson today!” he said, breathless with excitement. “Mace and me went over the lesson first, and then he had me join Knight Tokos in showing the little ones how to properly ignite them.”

“It sounds like you enjoy working with the crèchelings,” Qui-Gon noted.

Anakin nodded, the little Padawan tail bobbing at the back of his neck. “I do! I helped look after lots of little kids back on Tatooine when the shop was closed. They don’t treat me like I’m different. They just see that I’m a Padawan, and they don’t care that I’ve only been here a while instead of since I was a baby.”

A warning in the Force poked Qui-Gon insistently. “Are there many people who are treating you differently?” he asked softly.

Anakin shrugged, but Qui-Gon could sense some underlying tension in the gesture. “A few, I guess. Some of the other new Padawans don’t think Mace should have taken me as his apprentice because I didn’t spend any time as an Initiate.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them that Mace had a vision and to take it up with him,” Anakin replied, his grin mischievous. “The idea of going to a High Councilor and questioning his choice of apprentice usually shuts them right up.”

“Have you told Mace about this?” Qui-Gon asked him, concerned that the boy was confiding in him instead of in his own Master. As much as he would have liked to gloat to Mace Windu about it, it was not in Anakin’s best interest, and he refused to pettily sabotage their relationship like that.

“Oh, sure. He was real proud of me. He took me out for—what was it called again?—ice cream. Have you ever had ice cream before, Qui-Gon, sir? It’s wizard!”

Qui-Gon laughed, relieved that was not suddenly a keeper of the boy’s secrets. “Yes, I have, Ani. It’s quite tasty. I guess it wouldn’t last long on Tatooine, hmm?”

Anakin snorted and dissolved into a fit of giggles. He had stopped at a residential door, and, still giggling, punched in the access code. A small plaque hung over the door panel that read, “Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker.” A pang of disappointment for what could have been tugged at Qui-Gon’s heart, but he inhaled deeply and managed to release it to the Force. _Anakin has a Master. He is happy and healthy and being trained to use the Force properly. Mace is not incompetent._

Anakin waved to follow him, and Qui-Gon did so a touch hesitantly. The rooms were laid out the same way as his old suite, with the kitchen hidden behind the sitting room wall. Mace was nowhere to be seen, but some muttering in a language other than Basic suggested the man was puttering in the kitchen. Another guest, however, sat on the sleek couch, cradling a glass of water. If Shmi Skywalker was surprised to see him, she made no indication. “Good evening, Master Jinn,” she said politely.

“And to you, Lady Skywalker,” he replied, just as politely.

Anakin beamed. “I’m going to go check on Mace. Meal’s almost ready, though. You can go find your seats at the table.” He pointed to the fully set table that had been moved out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. His mother gave him a pointed look. “Oh, do you want anything to drink, Qui-Gon, sir? We have water and kava juice and some kind of wine that has bubbles in it. It’s green,” he said, frowning.

“Ah, water will be fine, thank you.” Anakin hurried out of the room, leaving the two adults watching each other like wary cats trying to be nonchalant.

Qui-Gon, ever the diplomat, filled the awkward silence. “How are you settling in on Coruscant, my lady?”

Shmi took a sip from her glass before answering. “It’s an adjustment, but I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking.” She paused, as if warring with herself. Finally, she asked carefully, “How is your recovery faring?”

“Slowly,” he replied honestly. Not wanting to discuss his medical condition as a guest to a meal, he landed on what he figured was a safe topic. “Did Anakin tell you he was learning to swim?”

She smiled; her face turned from a stony mask into a bright visage of pride, and Qui-Gon could see from where Anakin got his wide grin. With the stresses of slavery no longer hanging over her, she was a handsome woman. “Yes, with great enthusiasm and repetition,” she replied with a chuckle. “Mace told me it is difficult to get him out of the bathtub even when the water’s gone cold.”

“There are worse hobbies than bathing,” he said, laughing. Anakin returned to them, bearing a glass of water filled almost to the brim, and held it out to Qui-Gon. “Thank you, Anakin.”

“You’re welcome. Mace says the food is ready, so go find your places.” The adults moved to the table, where each place setting carried a handmade flimsi name card on top of the plate. The letters, childishly formed in Basic, had clearly been written with great care by Anakin. Qui-Gon suddenly wondered if Anakin was just learning to write in Basic since he arrived at the Temple; had he been forbidden from learning to write while a slave? He found the card with his name on it, pulled out the chair, and sat down. Shmi was settling in across from him, quietly pocketing the name card.

Bearing a dish with heat-proof mitts covering his hands, Mace Windu exited the kitchen. “Good evening, Qui-Gon. Glad you could make it,” he said, placing the dish on the table. “Anakin, go fetch the salad, please.”

“Yes, Mace.”

“I admit, I was surprised to get an invitation,” Qui-Gon remarked amiably.

Mace nodded with a sly twitch of his mouth. “Anakin was very persistent.” The blond boy returned with a wooden bowl full of greens and chopped vegetables, then took his seat.

The meal was surprisingly chatty. Anakin carried most of the conversation, discussing his new classes and friends for the benefit of his mother. Qui-Gon asked him leading questions designed to garner more detail about how his learning was being tailored for his needs. “Surely you’re not in the introductory mechanical classes?”

Anakin shook his head fervently. “No way! Master Chray gave me a placement test. I’m in the advanced Senior Padawan class. I found a snag in the paralight system they had been working on for over a month.” His blue eyes danced with mischief. “It only took me five minutes. Once they all figured out that I know what I’m doing, no one cared how old I was. Maybe when I’m finished that class, I’ll write the exam and get my technician’s license and help Mom out.”

Shmi frowned in thought. “I think on Coruscant you have to be the age of majority before they’ll allow you to get your license. You’ll be able to help, but I’ll still have to sign off on any of your work.”

Qui-Gon glanced at her, inquisitive but his mouth full of salad. “I’ve started the process to open my own mechanical shop. I write my licensing exam next week. Mace is helping me set up the funding I need, and I already have a space just outside the Temple district,” she said proudly. “I can do all the things I used to do, only now I am in charge and I make all the profit along with the decisions.”

He swallowed and offered her a wide smile. “That is wonderful, Lady Skywalker. I wish you good fortune in your endeavour. It must be nice to be so close to Anakin.”

“It is important for a child to be close with his mother,” Mace stated. Qui-Gon stared, this heretic declaration not what he expected from the lips of Mace Windu, but suddenly remembered what he had considered about Anakin and the nature of attachment.

“I agree completely,” Qui-Gon said. Mace, caught by surprise, failed to hold his mask of Jedi serenity. Doubt, shock, and relief crossed his face in just an instant. “Without our loved ones, our lives as Jedi become a series of impersonal events. Without considering the impact a decision might have as though it may impact our family or friends, how can we say we are being fair when negotiating the end of a war? We may say we are being just and impartial, but unless a Jedi can truly admit his biases and feelings in every situation, embrace them and release them to the Force for clarity, justice and impartiality are impossible.”

Anakin was regarding him with a tiny frown, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth. Qui-Gon smiled. “Think of it this way, Ani. Let’s say you’re trying to decide how to punish a murderer. The family of the victim wants the murderer to die, but the law of the planet forbids a death penalty. The family has suffered the most pain, though, and you could help them get closure. What do you do, as a Jedi?”

“Um, I don’t know. I guess I would want to help the family, because the murderer took their loved one away, and he should be punished. But as a Jedi, I have to follow all the rules, right?”

“It’s a difficult decision. As a Jedi, you have the power of the Force at your beck and call. You have a lightsaber. It would be easy to just lop off the murderer’s head and leave.” Upon seeing the spark of agreement in the boy’s eyes, he added, “But you also have great responsibilities as a Jedi. In that moment, where your responsibilities and your desire for swift action are warring with each other, you can do one important thing. You can ask yourself what your mother would want you to do. Would she want you to take matters into your own hands, kill another for the family’s relief, or would she want you to follow the guides that have been placed in front of you, the laws and justice system of the Jedi Order, that world, and the Republic?”

Anakin was silent, thinking deeply, while Mace was considering him with a look that Qui-Gon could not decipher. He did not seem frustrated or ready to throw him out, so Qui-Gon just shrugged slightly. To his surprise, the Korun dipped his dark head in acknowledgement.

With the meal finished, dishes left for the Padawan, Shmi left for the evening, bound for an aircar and accompanied by her son. Mace offered Qui-Gon a cup of tea and a quirked eyebrow. “Thanks for that,” he said without preamble.

“Anakin Skywalker is a special case. He needs to be treated with great care in all things, and you are clearly aware of that,” Qui-Gon said. He scrutinized the other man for a moment. “This has to do with the vision you had, doesn’t it? His attachment to his mother.”

Mace sighed heavily. “I don’t think I can discuss that particular topic without being very drunk, but very succinctly, yes. The boy needs to have close relationships with other people—the more the better. Did you talk to Dooku?”

Ignoring the abrupt change of subject, Qui-Gon poured a dash of milk and honey into the dark, fragrant liquid in his china mug. “I did.” He briefed Mace on what Dooku had told him, specifically about leaving the Order and Komari.

Mace’s eyes were full of regret. “The Council handled that very badly,” he admitted. “We can’t let him leave us, Qui-Gon. He’s vulnerable and exploitable if he doesn’t have our full support.”

“To the Dark side,” Qui-Gon agreed softly.

Mace shook his head, his expression hard as flint. “Worse.”

Sipping his tea as an excuse to keep quiet, Qui-Gon was horrified to think about what could be worse than Dooku Falling. He needed to be careful, now. “I believe the best thing we could do to help Dooku regain his faith in the Order is to allow him to help guide it. He needs to feel like he’s changing things for the betterment of the Jedi, to fulfill our purpose. I know his stance on politicians isn’t ideal, but perhaps we need more dissenting voices around here.”

Unexpectedly, Mace did not dismiss him out of hand. He sat, still as a statue, fingers steepled and tea untouched, deep in thought. Finally, after a few long minutes that would have been awkward had they not been Jedi, he nodded. “You may have solved this problem, Qui-Gon. Allow me a little more thought on the matter.”

Having Mace Windu in a good mood, Qui-Gon decided to press his luck a bit. “Have you heard from Obi-Wan?”

“Even if I had, I can’t tell you that, and you know I can’t tell you that, so don’t ask me again,” Mace snapped.

Qui-Gon hid a smirk by finishing his tea. “Very well, Master Windu. I will bid you a good night. You will be glad to know, however, that I took your advice.” He placed the mug on the table and stood slowly as to not aggravate his scar. “The Garden Master has asked me to tend to her honeybees in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

Mace Windu looked up to the ceiling as if it held all the answers to the universe and mouthed, “Why?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, space ice cream is solidly part of the MWUFTTL AU meta by Suzukiblu. I managed to squeeze it in there, and I'm not sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon opens up about Xanatos and opens up a beehive.

Morning in the Room of a Thousand Fountains was Qui-Gon’s favourite time, after dusk. The dew from the night cycle made the scent of greenery thick and tangible, while the birds were noisy and fluttering through the branches in search of food. He could watch them from the grassy hill, enjoying their antics as his leggings soaked up the moisture from the ground. That is where Master Kyoga found him, as promised.

“Good morning, Qui-Gon,” he said as he kneeled next to his patient.

“It is a good morning,” replied Qui-Gon. “I’ve been thinking, very carefully, about the question you asked me yesterday.”

The Weequay nodded encouragingly. “I’m glad to hear that. Have you come to a conclusion?”

“As long as we are in the mental capacity to do so, every sentient being is ultimately responsible for their own actions. However,” Qui-Gon paused, for a moment reminding himself of the many lectures he had given his Padawans over the years, “our actions do not exist in a vacuum. We can, and are, influenced by many factors. Being Jedi does not mean our emotions do not exist, nor does it mean we do not have important relationships that can affect the way we act. We have desires and needs that must be fulfilled. Our customs and culture influence us. We may have the ability and responsibility to choose our actions, but the influences on us may make choosing the best action clouded or even impossible, even if we try to listen to the Force.”

“Spoken like a true Jedi Master,” Kyoga said softly. “So what does that mean to you, personally? You were telling me about Obi-Wan’s discomfort with his place in your apprenticeship. Why do you think he would feel this way?”

Qui-Gon inhaled deeply. _I have to talk about this. If I don’t, it will eat at me until there is nothing left._ “Do you know what happened with my second apprentice?” He steeled himself by closing his eyes. “Xanatos?”

Kyoga’s voice was kind. “Qui-Gon, every Jedi who was alive at the time of his Fall knows about Xanatos.”

“Yes, well. They don’t know everything.” He cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of his discomfiture. “Xanatos was a brilliant apprentice and a lovely child. I had high hopes for him from the first day I encountered him on Telos. I saw nothing but potential in the Force, and in retrospect, I was blinded by it. I did not see what I should have seen. Xanatos already had a fierce and loving connection to his family and to his home. I took him away from that and brought him here, because I thought I knew what would be best for him, and as soon as I could, I made him my Padawan.

“He was so strong with the Force. Graceful, quick, and bright. But he was also vain, proud, and aggressive. He blamed others for his mistakes. He fought with the other Initiates and Padawans. When he was sixteen, we returned to Telos. His father convinced him to stay, and after the death of his sister, he agreed. I thought he needed to be rescued. I ended up killing his father to save another Padawan, and he witnessed the entire thing. The next time I encountered him, he had set up an elaborate plot to kill me in revenge for his father’s death. It was during that crisis that I met Obi-Wan.” He fell silent, reluctant to say anything more.

“You blame yourself for Xanatos’ Fall?” Kyoga asked bluntly.

“I realize now that what I did to him—taking him away from his family at a young age, after he had made deep bonds with them—was exactly what I did to Anakin Skywalker.” Qui-Gon turned to Kyoga, suddenly needing the other man’s support. Kyoga’s grey face watched him, subtly encouraging. “What if the same thing happened to Anakin, because of my actions, my blindness to the entire situation? I was so focused on Anakin’s power in the Force that I ignored how dependent he is on his mother. I looked away at how much he loves her and how much her love has shaped him. Had Mace Windu not taken him as his apprentice while I was on Naboo, and recognized what it was he was dealing with—insane vision or otherwise—what would have happened to Anakin? To all of us? He would be Xanatos all over again, only more powerful and even more emotionally damaged.”

“I believe the future is always in motion. I can’t say what would have happened to Padawan Skywalker. You, however, didn’t answer my question.”

Qui-Gon laughed, a short bark devoid of mirth. “Yes, of course I blame myself for Xanatos’ Fall. Before Naboo I would have blamed my teaching methods, or my belief in listening to the will of the Force over the rules of the Order, or some other lack. Now I blame myself for taking the boy away from his family in the first place and then killing his father right in front of him. I loved that boy like a son, but I wasn’t his family.”

“Your actions had consequences, Qui-Gon. I won’t dispute that. But as you said, we are ultimately responsible for ourselves. Xanatos answered the call of the Dark. He did not have to give into his anger. Even if he did, he had to keep making the choice to answer. He could have returned, faced the Reconciliation Council, and rejoined us. At every point, he chose to follow the Dark side. He must bear responsibility for what he did.”

Uncomfortable at this new thought, Qui-Gon found himself fishing the river stone out of his pocket and clenching it in his hand. The Force sang to him through the heavy, smooth surface, helping him calm and focus his mind. Kyoga noticed. “Is that a rock?” he asked, curious.

Qui-Gon nodded. “A stone from my homeworld. It’s Force-sensitive.”

“Does it comfort you?”

“Yes,” he replied, and sensing the Spirit Healer was about to ask why, he cut him off. “I gave it to Obi-Wan for the first birthday we shared as Master and Padawan. It was supposed to help him think about the Living Force. Now it reminds me of him.”

“Tell me about Obi-Wan. For all you’ve told me about Xanatos, you’ve said nearly nothing about Obi-Wan.”

He rubbed his fingers along the flat of the river stone. A small smile curled upon his lips. “Obi-Wan is an amazing young man with a promising future as a Jedi Knight. I almost missed the privilege of teaching him because of how Xanatos left me. I didn’t want another apprentice. I didn’t want to risk teaching another student who might Fall, who might break my heart. Obi-Wan was an angry young man, aggressive during a spar, with few friends. I thought he was a risk. I walked away. He was sent to the Agricorps.

“It was only because Xanatos tried to kill us both that I discovered Obi-Wan’s potential, and even after I agreed to make him my apprentice, I still kept my distance. I didn’t realize I was doing it. My heart was hardened after everything that had happened in order to protect myself, and I let it stay that way. I never reassured him that I valued our relationship. When I told the Council I wanted to take Anakin as my Padawan, I didn’t even have the common decency to warn Obi-Wan in advance, to explain what I was trying to do.” Qui-Gon closed his eyes but forced himself to keep speaking. “We argued about the boy, and I completely dismissed him instead of reassuring him of his place. He apologized to me, when it should have been the other way around. We did not have a chance to reconcile because I nearly died that day.”

“I think you need to speak to Obi-Wan about this,” Kyoga said. The tiniest frown had appeared around his mouth.

“I know. He’s on assignment.” Qui-Gon stared out at the Room, trailing anxious fingers through a tuft of grass next to him. “I owe him a great apology. I don’t think I’ll be able to move on with my life until I can offer that.”

The clandestine training bond in the back of his mind was still and small. After all this time, Qui-Gon had not sensed any activity from Obi-Wan’s side. He offered a soothing caress, however, in the hopes that maybe it would lend as much comfort to Obi-Wan as it did to him. The stone was warm in his hand, singing to him of the smell of grass and the light of the stars.

 

*

 

Qui-Gon was meeting with Naniqi Sa’laka a few steps away from her beehive when Master Dooku found him, looking more perplexed than Qui-Gon had ever seen him. The Garden Master nodded respectfully. “Good evening,” she said. Qui-Gon introduced them to each other, and Naniqi twitched her snout. “We are about to open this so I can show Master Jinn how a beehive works. You may stay and learn, too, if you wish.”

Dooku shrugged, rustling the ends of his short cape against the back of his knees. “I’ve never seen the inside of a beehive,” he replied, interest tinging his voice.

“Very well. We are going to observe the hive to determine where the bees are entering and exiting, then we will approach from the opposite side.”

Qui-Gon watched, fascinated, as the little black and yellow insects buzzed around the white cube. “There,” he pointed to the rear of the hive.

“Yes,” replied Naniqi. “Remember, bees are Force-sensitive. If you can project an aura of calm and no harm, they won’t disturb you. Beekeepers who are not Force-users normally pacify the bees using wood smoke.”

Qui-Gon took a moment to still his mind, releasing the leftover anxiety from his session with Kyoga into the Force. The uncomfortable lump of his bee sting still decorated his neck; he was in no hurry to accumulate more or cause another bee to die. Naniqi nodded at him, seemingly pleased, and moved cautiously towards the hive. Qui-Gon followed directly behind her, as did Dooku.

Naniqi narrated her actions for their benefit. “We are going to remove the top cover, very slowly as to not disturb the bees, then place it face up on the ground.” Her long, thin fingers worked their way under the lip of the hive cover, pulling it up incrementally. The cover lifted away without making any noise, and she carefully flipped it over and set it on the grass next to the hive. Dooku leaned over to see the inside of the hive.

It was at that point, in the years to come, Qui-Gon would tell his avid listeners things started to go wrong.

A torrent of bees exploded from the top of the hive, their angry buzzing deafening, as they circled Dooku. Naniqi stifled a shocked cry while Qui-Gon stumbled back several steps. Dooku yelled, swatting the bees away. The bees just seemed more provoked by the action. The elder Jedi’s mouth gaped open and closed like a stunned fish.

“Don’t, Master Dooku! Just run! Get out of the Room!” Naniqi shouted.

The sight of his Master, a venerated Jedi Master, escaping an enraged swarm of bees with his arms flailing in the air around him, was one that Qui-Gon Jinn would cherish forever. “I guess he wasn’t as calm as I gave him credit for,” he said mildly.

The Caamasi stifled a laugh and instead gave him an admonishing look. “You should go check on him. If he’s been stung badly, he’ll need to see the Healers. We’ll try this another time,” she told him. “Without Master Dooku, I should think.”

“As you say, Garden Master.” He checked his clothing for any bees hitchhiking in the fabric, then hurried to follow the path his Master had taken so swiftly. As he walked through the forested area of the Room, he thought he heard faint screams of surprise in the distance.

He found Dooku sitting on the floor, panting from exertion, on the other side of the entry door to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. A few dead bees lay scattered on the floor around him. Dozens of red pinpricks, quickly swelling, covered his face and hands; the poor man’s lip was ballooning to a cartoonish size. “Up you get, Master,” Qui-Gon said as he hooked his hands under the man’s arms and helped him up. In the moment of focusing on Dooku, he completely forgot about his injury. As Dooku let some of his weight settle on Qui-Gon’s wrists and Qui-Gon pulled him up, he felt a terrible rending in his chest. Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, determined not to scream, but Dooku noticed.

“What just happened?” he demanded. His words were slurred around his swollen lip.

“Pulled my scar,” Qui-Gon gasped. He was bleeding, he must be. “I guess we’re both going to the Healers.”

Qui-Gon and Dooku limped their way to the Halls of Healing, each man supporting the other with their arms linked across their backs. A crimson bloom of fresh blood had seeped through Qui-Gon’s tunics, while Dooku’s face was quickly becoming disfigured and shiny. “What in the name of the Force were you thinking about?” Qui-Gon asked him.

Dooku glowered at him, but he could no longer move his eyebrows. “I was coming to talk to you about it,” he spat. “Master Windu came to talk to me this morning. He told me he’s resigning from the Reconciliation Council and he’s nominating me as his replacement. He heavily implied that I was not allowed to say no.”

It had been a very long time since Qui-Gon, a seasoned diplomat and Jedi Master, stood dumbfounded, mouth agape. His scar protested the sudden stop. “I think you should take the seat, Master,” he said, mustering every shred of sincerity he could put into his voice. “It will give you the opportunity to do exactly what you told me you wanted. You can help those having difficulties with the rules of the Order, and even revise some of those rules.”

Dooku looked helpless, a feat compounded by the swelling of his face. “Most of the Reconciliation Council’s work is political. I’m not the right person for this. I would only alienate myself.”

Time for another seed to be planted. “Maybe, my Master, that perspective is exactly what the Jedi Order needs. If Mace Windu had wanted another Council member who would uphold the status quo, he could have easily chosen someone else. Accept the seat.”

Dooku did not reply. He kept his peace for the rest of their shuffle to the Halls of Healing. A Healer Padawan met them at the doors, looking rather alarmed at their conditions, and quickly shuffled them into a large treatment room. She tried to help both of them onto the medical beds, but was waved away. Harrumphing loudly, the girl yanked the privacy curtain between them and stormed out. Qui-Gon reached over and pulled the curtain back so he could keep an eye on his Master.

Abella was the first Healer to enter the room. Her eyes flicked from Qui-Gon’s bloody tunics to Dooku’s unrecognizable face and puffy hands and growled something, likely unflattering, in Chitanook. “Qui-Gon, lie down on the bed.” She grabbed a handful of gauze packages and tossed them at him. “Put those on your wound and put pressure on it. Your companion here looks like he’s having an allergic reaction.” She yelled out into the hall, calling for another Healer, then turned her attention back to Dooku. “What happened?”

“He was attacked by a swarm of honeybees,” replied Qui-Gon as he peeled open a few gauze squares. “I don’t think beekeeping is the right hobby for him. He should _bee_ more careful.”

The glare Dooku shot him could have peeled paint off the walls. “I know where you sleep, Padawan.”

“I’ll retract my terrible pun if you accept the seat, Master.”

“Fine.” At Dooku’s flat word, the Force sang its approval in Qui-Gon’s mind. He was going to have to have a long talk with Mace Windu about this vision of his; what other changes were coming to the Jedi Order? _Little gods, what plans does Mace have for_ me?

 

*

 

Tracking down Mace Windu was a difficult proposition at the best of times, and now that he had an apprentice to train, it was almost impossible. Qui-Gon spent the better part of a day searching the Temple for him, checking with the Councilor’s secretary—a most unhelpful, reticent Knight who practically threw him out of the office on his third inquiry—and even waiting in the refectory long past midmeal to see if the Korun or Anakin would appear. Qui-Gon finally found them deep in the warren-like private training halls. He could sense Anakin’s presence in the Force, blinding in its power, before he actually spotted the boy’s blond hair through a transparisteel viewing window.

Mace was teaching his Padawan Shii Cho. Qui-Gon watched the pair carefully as Mace demonstrated the open-handed kata form, his mouth moving as he instructed, then observed Anakin repeating the movement. When Anakin misstepped, or moved his body incorrectly, Mace corrected him gently by moving the boy’s limbs with his dark hands. This was learning that began in the crèche, but Anakin seemed to be a quick study. Qui-Gon did not see him make the same mistake twice. His lips quirked up in a small smile as he fondly remembered doing the same thing with Obi-Wan as his young apprentice learned Ataru.

Mace suddenly looked up to the window, spied Qui-Gon standing on the other side. He glowered as he marched over to the door and palmed it open. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“My apologies. I was merely observing until you had a free moment. You’re a difficult man to find these days.”

Mace grunted. “That’s because I have a Padawan to train. If you’re going to watch, then come and sit down, at least,” he said grudgingly. “Anakin, do you mind if Qui-Gon stays?” Anakin shook his head, and Qui-Gon inclined his head in acquiescence.

“Thank you. Good afternoon, Anakin. You are doing very well,” Qui-Gon praised.

Anakin’s face, flushed with effort, wore a small, self-deprecating smile. “Thank you, sir. I have a lot of practice to do.”

“Back to first position,” Mace ordered. The boy did as he was told, expression suddenly serious. “Not all Jedi need extensive lightsaber skills. Not all Jedi are out in the galaxy fighting pirates or being diplomats. The Order also needs people to fill other important roles, like the crèchemaster, or even pilots. You could be the best Jedi Ace in our history.”

The sudden realization that Anakin could be a Jedi and a pilot was miraculous to watch. His sky blue eyes bugged out of his skull, and a grin of epic magnitude slowly spread across his face. He turned to Qui-Gon and said in a hushed, breathless whisper, “You never told me _that._ ”

Qui-Gon spread his open hands. “I didn’t get time to tell you about a lot of things, Anakin. Please, continue your lesson.”

He watched the pair trudge through the rest of the kata, but it was clear that Anakin’s mind was on other things, like spaceships. Surprisingly, Mace took it in his stride, remaining far calmer than any High Council meeting in which Qui-Gon had participated. At the end of the form, Mace gave his apprentice an encouraging smile. “You have things to go think about, Anakin. Go to the library and ask Librarian Nu for a book or three about Jedi Aces. I’ll meet you back in our quarters.”

“Yes, Mace,” replied Anakin. He turned to leave the training salle, but stopped himself. Spinning back to face his Master, he bowed. “Thank you for the lesson, Mace,” he said formally.

“You are welcome, Padawan.” Anakin waved to Qui-Gon and took off at a pace that was just shy of running. “What was so important that you needed to interrupt my precious training time with my desperately behind apprentice?”

Qui-Gon gingerly rose from his seat, careful to not pull the new stitches that Abella had needed to close his wound. The numbing medication was starting to wear off. “You offered Dooku your seat on the Reconciliation Council.”

“I did.”

“Have you _met_ Dooku?”

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose. “I did it on your recommendation, Qui-Gon. You told me that we needed a new perspective on things, and frankly, I agree with you. Dooku needs a job that comes with constant supervision and the support of his peers. I actually believe he can do good things for the Jedi Order by serving on the Reconciliation Council.”

“Why not assign him to run a subcommittee?” Qui-Gon stared at him for a moment before his years of investigating and diplomacy and a hint from the Force nudged his thoughts. “You want him to alienate politicians from the Order. On purpose.”

“I never said that,” Mace replied. His posture screamed discomfort, and Qui-Gon could feel it in the Force. The man was on edge.

“Mace,” he said gently, “you can’t keep this vision of yours bottled up forever before it becomes a burden.”

“It was a burden the moment it revealed itself.” Mace shuddered. “I can’t tell you everything, Qui-Gon, but it is too awful to bear alone.”

Qui-Gon closed the gap between them to place a reassuring hand on Mace’s shoulder. “Tell me what you can about this. I want to help you.”

The Head of the Jedi Order heaved a sigh. “The Jedi Order needs to distance itself from the Galactic Senate if it is to survive. We are too invested in it, too restricted by it, to separate our needs from the needs of the galaxy we serve. Our Order was not founded to serve the Galactic Senate, nor was it created by the Senate. We have to become the brokers of real peace and protection in the galaxy, Qui-Gon—not at the behest of the Senate, but of the people of the galaxy. The blockade of Naboo happened because the Senate took no action. We sent only you and Obi-Wan because that what was asked of us by the Senate. The Naboo needed our protection, and instead of having a contingent of Jedi to protect their citizens from harm, we sent only two to negotiate with the Trade Federation.”

“We cannot police the entire galaxy,” Qui-Gon replied, concerned for the implications of what Mace was saying.

“I’m not proposing we do. I don’t know if I’ve even figured out what it is I’m proposing yet. All I know is that we can’t keep going this way, or we are all in grave danger.”

“Please tell me you aren’t putting all your hopes on Dooku,” Qui-Gon said.

Mace shook his head. “Letting Dooku raise a stink about the Senate is not my only plan. Just promise me that you’ll support me the next time I need to do something out of the ordinary. I know I haven’t done the same for you over the years, but you may be one of the few people I can count on to help me do what I need to do. Please, Qui-Gon.”

It was the slightly pleading tone in the man’s voice that caught Qui-Gon’s attention. He had never heard Mace Windu ask for help before, and certainly not so directly. “Very well. I don’t know how much assistance I can render while I’m on sabbatical, but I’ll do what I can,” Qui-Gon replied. Mace visibly relaxed and started towards the door. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Too late,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the hall.

A cold frisson ran down Qui-Gon’s back that had nothing to do with the cooling fans powering up above him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! The next update may be a bit slower than what you've come to expect, as my writing time will be limited in the next two weeks. I'll do my best not to keep you waiting too long.  
> And hey, thank you so much for all the kind comments and kudos. They make my heart happy and fuel my muse.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon forgets his birthday, but someone remembers.

Qui-Gon stood, arms akimbo, as he considered the bole of the Galek tree and wondered if he really needed to harvest honey today. His scar was hurting and he was in no mood for climbing the narrow ladder to the treehive. Suddenly, he felt a tugging at the back of his work shirt and turned to glance behind him. A youngling, Togrutan and not more than four years old, was staring at him with the bluest, widest eyes he had ever seen. “What is it, little one?” he asked gently, offering her a smile.

“It’s for you, Master Jinn,” the little girl replied, holding out her chubby orange hand. In her palm rested a perfectly round jade stone with a hole worn through the middle.

“Thank you, child. It’s a lovely gift from a generous young Jedi.” His smile widened, crinkling the lines at his eyes, but the girl shook her head so fast her blue and white montrals whipped through the air.

“Not from me, Master Jinn. The Knight said to bring it. Master Yoda said he couldn’t come into the gardens.” She pushed her outstretched hand towards him and he plucked the stone from her. “The Knight said it’s for Master Jinn. You’re Master Jinn because you have a beard and long hair and bees.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I suppose that’s apt. Did you know the Knight who wanted this delivered?”

The girl, again, shook her head in great seriousness. “No, Master Jinn. He has a beard, too. Not like yours.” She cocked her head, as if hearing her name called. “I have to go back to Clawmouse Clan.” Her teeth suddenly appeared in a wide grin. “We are going swimming! Skyguy’s helping! He’s fun. Bye, Master Jinn! Happy birthday!”

The youngling darted away towards the Room’s pool and disappeared from his view before he was able to process the date in his mind. It  _ was  _ his birthday; he had had trouble keeping track of the day ever since he returned from Naboo almost a year ago. The stone in his hand was warm from the youngling’s fist. He held it up to examine the deep green surface, which was smooth and mottled with veins of a subtly lighter green. The hole was quite remarkable—clearly not artificially drilled, but how nature had worn away a perfect circle through the hard material was a mystery to him. Unlike the river stone, however, it did not seem Force-sensitive. It was strangely heavy in his hand.

The bond, normally a quiescent and unobtrusive point of light in his mind, suddenly quivered like a plucked string. Qui-Gon’s long legs were already carrying him towards the door of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Faster, faster he ran, to the point of pulling at his scar, to the point of his heart throbbing in his chest. He ran, hand clenched around the stone in his hand, the river stone crowing encouragement even through his pocket. He ran, skidding to a stop at the door and searching so frantically that the hair bound in a knot at the back of his neck escaped and tangled in his mouth and beard.

Yoda was waiting for him, ears drooped. His claws rested on the top of his gimer stick. “Searching for something or someone, are you?” he asked in that damned knowing way of his.

“Was Obi-Wan here?” Qui-Gon demanded, perhaps more sharply than he should have spoken to the Grand Master.

Yoda shook his head slowly. “Here, Obi-Wan was not.”

As if compelled, Qui-Gon hurried past Yoda and into the hall. The bond made no further sign that Obi-Wan was near or manipulating it in any way. Still, his feet moved him down the corridor, towards the Grand Stair. He passed a handful of Knights, Masters, and a group of younglings being shepherded by two aggrieved Padawans. Ignoring their curious stares, he continued on until he reached the top of the Stair. A Temple guardsman wandered over from his post and eyed Qui-Gon. “Can I help you?” he asked carefully.

“Have you seen a young Knight come through here? He has reddish hair, about this tall?” Qui-Gon held out a hand around his ear.

“I’m sorry, sir, I haven’t seen anyone come through here. Do you require assistance?”

Qui-Gon shook his head absently, scanned the Stair one more time, and turned back towards the corridor. Disappointment at not seeing Obi-Wan in person warred with the delight he felt at his apparently flouting of his mission rules just to wish him a happy birthday. Delight won, and a smile slowly spread across his features as he rubbed the edge of his gift. It would not be too long before Obi-Wan was home again.

 

*

 

Dooku arrived on time for their usual afternoon tea looking haggard. He sank into Qui-Gon’s couch, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is completely intolerable,” he complained as Qui-Gon brought out the tea tray. “If we don’t exact some real change, the Jedi Order is doomed to failure.”

The lack of sarcasm in his voice caught Qui-Gon’s immediate attention. “What’s the problem?”

Sighing, Dooku unbuttoned his high collar. “We’ve entangled ourselves in a bloody great mess, that’s the problem, and I can’t see any way to get out of it. The Senate is allowed to ask us for assistance with any issue that comes their way, and somehow it has been  _ legislated _ that we respond to every request. The Jedi Order does not belong to the damned Galactic Senate! We are not their slaves!” Dooku’s voice raised almost to a shout. “Mediation of disputes and treaty negotiations at least make sense, but why are we acting as criminal investigators instead of Judicial? Why are we being asked to help CorSec catch pirates and smugglers when they have the resources to do so on their own? Why are we turning blind eyes to slavery and child trafficking within the Republic’s borders in the Outer Rim?

“Why, Qui-Gon, are the Jedi acting as police, military, peacekeepers, and diplomats at the same time? With every action as one, we cripple our ability to act as the others.”

“We serve because we are neutral, my Master, and the galaxy trusts us to be neutral,” Qui-Gon replied. Dooku squinted at him; Qui-Gon suddenly felt as though his teacher was deciding whether he was an imbecile or willfully ignorant.

“How in the name of all the gods can we be neutral when our actions are being dictated to us by the Senate? Answer me this: do you believe the Galactic Senate is a neutral body, devoid of the influence of money, power, and greed?” As if disgusted that he even had to ask the question, he threw himself off the couch and began to pace the small sitting room. His long stride left him six paces from wall to wall.

“No, of course I don’t,” said Qui-Gon. Six paces, turn. Six paces, turn.

“Then how can the Jedi Order be neutral if we are taking orders from a non-neutral body with so many members serving self-interests that it would be impossible to uncover them all? Neutrality is a damned  _ illusion _ , Qui-Gon!  _ It doesn’t exist _ !” Dooku shouted.

Alarmed at this display of nerves and frustration, Qui-Gon picked up a teacup and held it out. “Please, Dooku, come sit down. Calm yourself.”

With great difficulty, the six paces slowed and Dooku took a noisy, deep breath through his nose. “I haven’t even told you about the money, yet.” He sat back down on the couch, reserve apparently regained, and plucked the cup out of Qui-Gon’s outstretched hand. He sipped at his drink and muttered, almost too quietly for Qui-Gon to hear, “At least those damnable bees are good for something.”

“What money?” prodded Qui-Gon instead of smiling at the overheard comment.

Dooku’s left eyebrow lifted over the rim of his cup. “The Order’s federal budget. Did you know that in the past twenty years, our budget has only kept pace with inflation, while the number of demands for service have risen five hundred percent? We are funnelling all our funds into Senate operations, while our own necessary departments, like Archive acquisitions, have taken the brunt. Would you like to guess which department has had its budget cut to nearly nothing?” At Qui-Gon’s slow head shake, Dooku offered him a mirthless smile. “Acquisition Division.”

“Search? How do you know this?” he breathed.

“For all my peers have condemned me for my interest in material wealth, I know how economic systems work and how to read the fine print in Republic budget legislation. It was not difficult to find this information. It’s not even protected or classified. The fact that I seem to be the only one who knows about it suggests that no one has noticed.” The disdain in his voice was palpable.

Carefully, Qui-Gon placed his cup back on the low table in front of the couch. “Are you suggesting that the Senate has crippled our ability to replenish our numbers on purpose?”

“I can’t prove that,” Dooku said hesitantly. “But I have evidence that should make all of us start asking some extremely uncomfortable questions of both the Senate and ourselves.”

“Are you taking this to the High Council?”

“Of course I am! I can hardly keep this to myself, can I? I need to do some more research, first. I want to find out if our loss rate of Jedi in the field has increased in the same timeframe, and whether our success on Search has changed. I have no doubt that our reach on Search has been shortened, but I can’t go before the Council without hard numbers.” Dooku stroked his goatee for a moment. “Can I ask for your support in this matter?”

“These are very serious allegations, Master. Show me what you have uncovered, and I will do what I can. Please be careful.”

Dooku held Qui-Gon’s gaze for a moment, his dark eyes troubled. “I will.”

 

*

 

As he slipped his bare feet between the sheets on his bed, Qui-Gon turned on the small reading lamp that sat on his bedside table. He adjusted the covers over his lap, then opened his hands, palms up. The river stone lay in his left hand and the birthday stone, his right. He allowed himself to fall into a light trance, enjoying the clear, sweet song of the Force as it sounded through the river stone.

_ Oh, Obi-Wan. I miss you. I wish I could have seen your face today. _ He had worked so hard to accept the turns that his life had taken, to adapt to the reality of his injury. He still had bad days, where the pain in his scar was unbearable, leaving him unable and unwilling to leave his quarters; Dooku would sit with him and rail about the wretched stupidity of his last Reconciliation Council meeting. Tahl, if she was in-Temple, would bring him gossip and pilfered snacks from the refectory. He wondered how Obi-Wan would react to his continued disability. They had both expected him to recover before Obi-Wan returned from his mission. Would he be shocked? Dismayed? Would he distance himself from his old Master?

_ I won’t know until he comes home _ . He took a calming breath and set the thoughts aside as he placed the stones carefully on his bedside table. Flicking off the lamp, he eased down onto his pillow. Quiet darkness settled upon him. He closed his eyes, fidgeted with the covers one more time, and turned his attention to the training bond. The tiny point of light that gave him so much comfort was still and silent. He concentrated, trying to sense Obi-Wan at the end of the bond.

A pulse of energy caught his attention. The bond glowed in his mind, warm and bright. It felt like reassurance—and sadness.

And then it winked out completely.

Qui-Gon sat up in his bed, shocked. His mind  _ hurt _ . Prodding the spot where the bond had been, he found nothing. Not even a hint of the bond was left; it had been completely eliminated. A sob racked him as he realized what had caused it. Obi-Wan had died.

He frantically rifled through the drawer of his table, searching for his comm to alert the High Council.  _ Maybe someone’s with him. Maybe they can save him, get him home. _

Except he was not supposed to know if Obi-Wan was alive or not. He was not supposed to have a training bond with him anymore. Obi-Wan was a Knight now, with a promising future, and Qui-Gon was his old, broken Master.  _ Consequences be damned.  _ He found the comm, finally, and tried to take a deep breath before punching in the sequence.

“Yes?” Mace sounded irritated. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

“It’s me,” Qui-Gon managed to say. His voice was shaking as badly as his hands.

“What is it?” His tone was instantly concerned. “Do you need help?”

“Obi-Wan needs help,” he replied. “Something’s happened.”

“I’ll be right there. Are you in your quarters?”

Qui-Gon must have replied, but he did not remember doing so. Mace Windu found him in his bed, curled on his side and staring at the wall. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unnoticed. The dark Korun knelt by the bedside. “Qui-Gon, tell me what happened.”

“The bond is gone. Obi-Wan is gone,” he croaked.

Mace furrowed his brow in confusion. “What bond? How—” he gasped in dismay. “You two didn’t break your training bond before he left Naboo.Why didn’t you  _ tell _ anyone?”

“It’s gone now, Mace. Something happened to Obi-Wan. Is he with another Jedi?” Qui-Gon could barely manage a whisper. His hands were still shaking, and his head was throbbing.

“I can’t tell you that, Qui-Gon. I wish I could, but I can’t. I have to go check in with the mission handler and see if we can confirm what has happened to Kenobi. I’ll be back when I know something, all right?” Mace glanced around the empty room awkwardly. “Do you want me to contact someone to come stay with you?”

“No.”

Qui-Gon did not even notice when Mace rose and hurried out of his quarters. The river stone clenched in his fist, heavy and comforting, sang a soothing note of reassurance even as his pillow became damp under his cheek.

 

*

 

He must have fallen asleep, because the sun was battering his eyelids. Wincing, he lifted his head from his pillow and spat out the long strands of hair that had migrated to his mouth. The two stones lay on the blank canvas of his bedsheet, stark and lonely. The spot in the back of his mind where Obi-Wan once rested was still empty. He poked at it, like a tongue prodding the socket of a missing tooth, and found nothing. He debated rolling over and seeking the oblivion of sleep, but his bladder protested; Qui-Gon rolled out of bed and shuffled out of the bedroom towards the ‘fresher.

Mace Windu was sitting on his couch, seemingly in meditation. As Qui-Gon emerged from his room, the Korun’s brown eyes snapped open, and Qui-Gon’s heart sank even further. There was no good reason for Mace to be here, now. “Get out.”

“Qui-Gon, I wanted to tell you in person,” Mace said quietly. “The handler has lost all communication and fix on Obi-Wan. He’s going to investigate further, but he’s listing him as a temporary MIA.”

“Get out, Mace.” Qui-Gon’s voice, rough from a night of sleeplessness, barely rose above a whisper.

Mace shook his head. “No, you don’t understand, I’m trying to tell you that he’s not confirmed dead!”

“I felt it!” Qui-Gon shouted. “The bond is gone! This is your fault. You and the Council. You sent him, a brand-new Knight, on a long-term undercover mission. You knighted him without me. You sent him away when I needed him most, when I needed someone to care about me!” Mace opened his mouth to reply, but Qui-Gon continued viciously. “Can you at the very least tell me what was so kriffing important that you sent your shiniest Knight? Why him? Did you take him away from me on purpose? As a punishment?”

“I sent him because I needed him to be away from Anakin!” Mace shouted back. His jaw closed with an audible  _ click _ of his teeth, and a look of immediate regret flashed over his features.

“Let me guess, this Sith-damned  _ vision _ of yours? What could Obi-Wan possibly do that would warrant sending him away like that?” Qui-Gon demanded, the anger in him seething through his arteries, thrumming with every beat of his cloned heart.

Mace’s eyes seemed to darken, as though he was channelling  _ vapaad _ without moving a muscle. His voice was so quiet, so tightly wound, that Qui-Gon had to strain to hear him. “He trained Anakin to Knighthood, and Anakin turned. He slaughtered all the younglings.”

“He didn’t! That didn’t happen, and it’s not happening now! This is what’s happening, right now, Mace. You sent my apprentice on a mission he wasn’t ready for and now he’s dead.”

“Qui-Gon—”

“Get. Out.” Qui-Gon turned his back on Mace and returned to his bedroom, slamming his hand down on the door control. The anger in him, battering his heart, demanded more purchase. He stalked across the small room, running his hands roughly through his hair, unable to find his centre. The sunlight streaming through the narrow window spilled onto the unmade bed, illuminating the two stones. He grabbed the river stone, pressing it into the centre of his fist. It sang, still, of the Force. Of Obi-Wan.

His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor as his seething anger became sobbing despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday tomorrow, and my daughter asked me, "Are all your friends going to come to your birthday? If they don't, your birthday will be off."
> 
> I think she meant cancelled.
> 
> So, in honour of my birthday, have a gift, my lovely friends ... the gift of angst. *evil cackle*
> 
> A special, grateful thank you to the kind and brilliant Aryax, who has taken on the task of being my beta reader. All errors are my own.


	8. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude: an intervening period of time

_“How could you possibly know he’s dead? The announcement on the Temple channel was that Obi-Wan is missing in action.”_

_“Tahl … he didn’t break our training bond before he left on his mission. I felt the bond disappear. He’s gone.”_

_“Gods, Qui-Gon. I—I’m so, so sorry.”_

_“He’s gone and I never had the chance to apologize.”_

_“He’s one with the Force, my dear. He knows.”_

 

_“I do wish you would tell me what is really on your mind, Qui-Gon. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”_

_“Obi-Wan is missing in action.”_

_“I think there’s more to it than that.”_

_“I’m worried about his safety, as any Master does for their newly-Knighted apprentice. That’s all.”_

 

_“No, Mace.”_

_“Look, I—I want to apologize for what happened between us. You just had a bond break, and I didn’t treat you the way I should have.”_

_“Like a friend who has just lost his apprentice?”_

_“Yes. I’m sorry.”_

_“Do you have any news about Obi-Wan? Have they found his body?”_

_“Nothing. If they don’t find anything in another month, he’ll stay on the missing in action list.”_

_“…thank you for not ratting me out to the rest of the Council.”_

_“I didn’t want you to have the honour of being the only Jedi to ever earn a censure while on sabbatical.”_

 

_“Rumour has it you’ve been sneaking out of the Temple to meet with Senators in private, Master.”_

_“Really? What else are the rumours saying, Padawan mine?”_

_“No one can decide if you’re up to something. So what_ are _you up to?”_

_“I’m doing some research for a proposal I want to make to the High Council.”_

_“Another proposal? Your last proposal ended with a subcommittee looking into the budgets, and they’re working slower than a dead Bantha.”_

_“I’m drafting a Jedi Statement of Neutrality that will change how the Jedi Council responds to requests from the Senate and Chancellor’s Office.”_

_“Master Windu is going to love this.”_

_“You will not speak a word of this to him until I’m ready, Qui-Gon.”_

_“Of course, Master. As you wish.”_

 

_“Lady Skywalker, I owe you an apology for how I treated you on Tatooine. I said and did things that were unconscionable for a Jedi Master. I did not ask you or Anakin what you wanted; you may have been slaves, but I should have treated you otherwise.”_

_“I admit, I did not expect an apology after all this time, Master Jinn.”_

_“It has taken me an embarrassingly long time to discern my many faults.”_

_“I accept your apology, Master Jinn. You are a good friend to Anakin and Mace.”_

_“I hope we could be friends also.”_

_“Perhaps, Master Jinn. Perhaps.”_

 

_“I’m so sorry, Master Qui-Gon. I’ve exhausted the resources of the Temple medical archives. I’ve spoken to every Healer in the Order, including the Corellian and Dantooine Temples. We just don’t know why your wound won’t heal completely. It…may have something to do with the Sith, but my resources there are extremely limited. It doesn’t mean I am going to stop trying to figure this out. I promise you that.”_

 

_“Qui-Gon, I’m officially asking you to take Master Poof’s seat on the High Council. I would appreciate it if you didn’t say no or flee the Temple screaming.”_

_“No, Mace.”_

_“You told me a long time ago that you would support me the best you could. This is the way you can do that. I need you to help me change the High Council. Together we can create a Jedi Order that listens to the will of the Force over the will of the Senate.”_

_“No.”_

_“I’m putting Dooku in Agen Kolar’s seat. He won’t take it unless you take Yarael’s. It’s time you got out of the Garden and started doing something useful for a change. Please, Qui-Gon. You’ve said no four times already. You’ve made your point about not wanting to be part of the establishment. My Padawan is almost thirteen, puberty has made him extremely annoying, and I’m not above setting him on you.”_

_“Don’t expect me to sit there and nod. I will use the power of my position when necessary, and as the Force directs me. My sitting on the Council does not automatically give you my vote. You may end up regretting this.”_

_“That’s exactly why I want you there. If I’m going to regret it, everyone else will, too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me means a special surprise chapter posted today for you!


	9. Chapter 9

Qui-Gon was the last to enter the High Council chambers, but not the last to take his seat. A group of Councilors was crowding around a few Jedi that he did not recognize, talking over one another so that they sounded like his bees. He strode to his seat, wishing he could shed his cloak, and sat down. Dooku was already settled in the seat next to him, reading a report off a datapad and studiously taking no notice of the jumble of people by the door. “What’s this all about?” Qui-Gon asked him quietly.

Dooku shrugged. “Debriefing from returning Knights was all I was told. I don’t know why Mace said it was urgent. I wish they would get on with it; I have a meeting with three senators in an hour.”

“More senators?” he replied, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

“I’m still consulting for my neutrality proposal. _Quietly_ consulting,” the elder Jedi added with a meaningful look for his former Padawan.

“Yes, Master, understood. I _am_ a Jedi Master well-versed in the art of discretion,” Qui-Gon retorted. Dooku offered an undignified snort in reply.

As Mace Windu entered the room and cleared his throat loudly, the other Councilors hurried to their seats. The three Jedi Qui-Gon did not recognize took their place in the centre of the chamber, facing the Master of the Order and Yoda, and bowed deeply. The one on the left was a tall-statured woman with stunning blonde hair pulled up in a braid and pinned into a knot at the base of her skull. She looked exceedingly young to be a Knight, but held herself with poise and self-assurance. A large bag hung off her shoulder. The center Jedi was a Devaronian male, horns glinting in the bright sun streaming in through the windows, and the last of the group was a middle-aged man with a wild copper beard and long red hair hiding most of his face. All three of them looked weary and travel-stained. Mace began to speak, and Qui-Gon turned his attention to him.

“I call this meeting to order. Today we welcome home three Knights who have served the Order faithfully and without hesitation. They have returned to us after a long and gruelling undercover mission that will support the continued existence of the Jedi Order. Knights Tachi, Seressk, and Kenobi, please give your reports.”

Qui-Gon’s heart stuttered, and everything in his mind fled except for the thudding in his chest. He could not breathe. The irregular rhythm drummed against his ribs. He could not breathe. He could not _breathe._ Blood rushed through his ears, deafening him.

The man with the copper beard was kneeling in front of him now, his mouth moving with words Qui-Gon could not hear. Qui-Gon reached out and grabbed the man’s shoulder; suddenly, the fine filament of a training bond flared to life in the back of his mind, flooding him with the overwhelming sense of _Obi-Wan._ Panic rose in him, trying to close up his throat.

“Is it you?” he croaked in a whisper. “You’re alive?”

The copper Knight nodded and took Qui-Gon’s other hand in his. The contact was warm and dry and grounding like the earth. “Yes, Qui-Gon, it’s me.” He glanced over at Mace and spat, “You didn’t tell him I was alive? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It was a top secret mission, Knight Kenobi, and he wasn’t involved. I didn’t have time to speak to him before the meeting,” Mace retorted. “Please take Master Jinn out to the antechamber. He clearly needs a few moments.” Obi-Wan— _Obi-Wan!_ —helped haul him out of his chair and snaked his arm around Qui-Gon’s waist. The room spun a little, but Obi-Wan held him fast before he could stumble.

“Yes, Master Windu. I shall return shortly.”

“Thank you, Knight Kenobi,” Yoda added, looking appropriately concerned for the whole tableau. Obi-Wan nodded, then led Qui-Gon out of the chamber.

“Knight Tachi, you may continue with your report,” Mace said as the doors closed behind them.

Obi-Wan paused in the antechamber as Qui-Gon fought to regain his normal breathing. “Do you need to see the Healer?” he asked gently, concern painting his features.

Qui-Gon laughed bitterly. “I always need to see the Healer,” he said, “but this will pass as long as my heart rate goes back to normal.” Obi-Wan’s arm was still around his waist, but Qui-Gon stepped away to get a better look at his former apprentice.

Gone were the traditional Jedi robes in favour of a set of clothing that had seen hard wear. A leather pilot’s jacket, worn shiny in some places and scuffed in others, covered a threadbare green shirt. Instead of a lightsaber, he wore two blasters within an elaborate set of leather holsters adjusted for a cross-draw. Knee-high leather boots, zipped up along the outer sides, seemed broken in but not in disrepair. A black kerchief tied around his neck completed the ensemble. He looked desperately in need of a wash. With his unkempt beard and hair touching his shoulders, he looked ten years older than he was. No wonder Qui-Gon had not recognized him at first glance.

“Ben Lars. Nice to meet you,” Obi-Wan said, quirking his mouth up at the corner. His Coruscanti accent disappeared into something less descript, and his voice became lower and rougher.

“I walked right past you, Obi-Wan. I didn’t sense your presence. The—” he lowered his voice, glancing around for any eavesdroppers but finding none, “training bond. It was gone.”

Regret filled the younger man’s face, and his voice returned to normal. “I’m truly sorry about that. I was in a situation where I thought I was about to be killed, and I didn’t want the bond to break like that, so I hid it.”

“You hid it? You mean you shielded it?”

“No, I mean I hid it. Like this.” Obi-Wan’s expression turned inward for a split-second, and both his presence in the Force and the bond between them completely vanished. Qui-Gon could see him in front of him, but the his Force-sense screamed that Obi-Wan was not actually there.

Aghast, Qui-Gon shuddered. “Stop. Please.” The bond winked back into existence, while Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force, projecting calm and concern, flooded his senses.

“I didn’t mean to distress you. This skill kept me alive on more than one occasion. It was necessary to stay hidden until we returned.” A little frown marred his face.

Qui-Gon managed a weak smile. “It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting … that. Is that strictly a skill a young Jedi Knight is supposed to know?”

Obi-Wan’s expression hardened. “Every Jedi should know it, especially now.” He waved his hand and dramatically changed the subject. “Never mind that. It’ll all be in the report, which I should really get back to. Are you well enough to return, or shall I escort you to your quarters?”

“I think I’m all right, but Mace Windu won’t be the next time I encounter him in a deserted hallway.” Qui-Gon checked his pulse at his neck, counted for a moment, and nodded. “Back to normal. Mostly.” Obi-Wan turned back towards the door, but Qui-Gon stopped him with a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Can we talk, after the meeting?”

“Of course. Send me a message on my comm with the time and place. I find I’m in desperate need of a shower and shave.” He ineffectively smoothed the curly hairs on his chin with his hand and grinned, then re-entered the High Council chamber. Qui-Gon followed him, too overwhelmed and emotionally tangled to reply.

Obi-Wan returned to his place next to the Devaronian Knight. Qui-Gon walked around the outside of the circle of seats, back to his own empty chair, and eased himself down. Siri Tachi paused only for a moment to nod at Qui-Gon before resuming her narration. “We followed traces of the Sith that Obi-Wan killed on Naboo all over the Outer Rim, but there was never any concrete evidence of his existence until we started making friends within the Black Sun crime syndicate.”

“Friends?” Depa Billaba repeated with disbelief. Qui-Gon wondered how long it had been since the Chalactan woman had stepped outside the temple.

“You would be surprised at how helpful disreputable friends can be, Master Billaba,” replied Obi-Wan with no hint of irony. Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows at hearing this from his straightlaced apprentice, and Obi-Wan winked at him without even turning his head. “They were able to give us multiple independent reports of a red-skinned Iridonian Zabrak with black face tattoos and yellow eyes who showed up on security holos before Black Sun’s leadership was wiped out. No eyewitnesses to the attack survived, but all the bodies were reported to have mortal lightsaber wounds. We were able to sense Darkness in that place even a year after the attack occurred.”

“Are there any clues as to whether he was the apprentice or the master?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.

Siri shook her head. “Again, nothing that would be considered solid evidence.”

“It does seem, however, that he could be doing the work of a Sith in training.” The Devaronian Knight, Seressk, Mace had called him, interjected. “I have no proof of this other than my own intuition and the application of logic. While a Sith could profit from the destruction of Black Sun and the chaos it creates, a Sith Master would likely take more care to wipe the security feed and truly leave no witnesses.”

“After four years of undercover work, this is all you have?” Evan Piell demanded.

“Not quite, Master Piell,” Siri shot back. She slung the carry-all bag off her shoulder and placed it on the floor at her feet. She fished a pair of black leather gloves out of the inner pocket of her jacket, pulled them on, and rummaged inside the bag. From the depths of the battered canvas, she withdrew a black and gold pyramid. The sudden wash of darkness that emanated from that small shape was enough to make Qui-Gon physically flinch; all around the room, Councilors shifted uncomfortably and a concerned murmur rose among them.

Master Yoda leaned forward, his ears twitching. “A holocron, you have discovered? Jedi technology, this is _not._ ”

Siri shook her head vehemently. “No, Master Yoda. We found this on Ragoon IV, and it is very clearly a Sith holocron. It only recently came into our possession, and we thought it best to wait until we arrived at the Temple before attempting to communicate with the … occupant.”

“A wise decision,” Dooku interjected. “Sith holocrons are often booby-trapped, and often in multiple layers. I see that you have been trained well enough to not touch it with your bare hands.” The grudging respect in his voice surprised Qui-Gon as much as his apparent knowledge about Sith holocrons.

Siri inclined her head towards Dooku. “We saw what happened when someone handled it with his bare hands. It wasn’t pretty. However, I have reason to believe that the Sith apprentice we’ve been tracking may have interacted with this holocron, and I would highly recommend an attempt to glean information from it.”

“A dangerous proposition,” Yoda warned.

“A necessary proposition,” Mace retorted. “We need every scrap of data and reconnaissance we can gather on the Sith. Just because we haven’t heard from them in a few years doesn’t mean that they have suddenly vanished from the galaxy. Knight Tachi, please surrender the holocron to the Council of First Knowledge; I’ll have Master Is’laya meet you here at the conclusion of this meeting. If the Sith you’ve been tracking had contact with the occupant of the holocron, then it is imperative that we get that information.”

“Do any of the current Jedi Shadows have any experience with Sith holocrons?” Dooku asked.

“One or two,” Yoda replied thoughtfully. “Experience with holocrons have you, Master Dooku?”

“Not directly,” Dooku replied sharply, “but I have read many texts regarding the subject. If the Shadows have trouble with the holocron, I could render some assistance.”

“I think the Shadows know what they’re doing, Master Dooku,” Mace said bluntly. “The Sith is their area of expertise.”

“Since when do we not use all our resources in attempting to solve a problem?” retorted Dooku waspishly. “I was merely offering my knowledge in a situation where our breadth and depth of experience is clearly lacking.”

Yoda’s sideways glance at Mace spoke volumes. Qui-Gon wondered if his grand-Master was going to shut the entire debate down, and he was not disappointed. “Should help they need, ask, the Shadows will. Thank you, Master Dooku.”

Dooku inclined his head gracefully and pointedly turned his attention away from Mace. Still standing in the middle of the chamber, holding a Sith holocron, Siri Tachi cleared her throat. “I’ll just put this away, shall I?” she muttered as she shoved the black pyramid back into the depths of her bag.

“We have no other pressing information at this time, Masters. Our full reports shall be submitted no later than the end of the week,” Seressk said, firm but respectful. “We would prefer to have showered before sitting down to write.”

“I should think so,” Depa Billaba replied.

“Very well,” Mace agreed.

“Welcome you home, we do. A long time, it has been for all of us,” Yoda said quietly. Qui-Gon could not have agreed more.

 

*

 

Finding himself in the Room of a Thousand Fountains that afternoon, Qui-Gon was unable to focus on any beekeeping tasks. His invitation to Obi-Wan had suggested 1900 hours in his quarters and had earned a quick response that read, _See you then._ He found himself walking the path to the grassy hill, his mind racing. Obi-Wan was alive. He had been alive this whole time. All the grief he had felt, all the mourning he had done privately because he could not tell anyone about how he knew Obi-Wan had died, was for what? For nothing? He had spent years tamping down the sadness and hurt every time he thought of his apprentice. There was no place for those feelings to go, now, because they were not needed.

He reached the top of the hill and assumed his meditation position. Closing his eyes, he stretched out into the Force and began cataloguing the life signatures of all the little creatures he could sense in the room. This exercise had kept him from spiralling into anxiety in the past few years, but for some reason, it did not help today.

A quiet voice interrupted his poor attempt at meditation. “Good day, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon sighed and opened his eyes. “Kyoga. What brings you here?”

The Weequay Spirit Healer offered him a slightly bemused smile. “You did. Today is our appointment day. Had you forgotten?”

“Actually, I had. I think my feet brought me here on auto-pilot.” Qui-Gon motioned for Kyoga to join him, even though he would have preferred to be alone.

“What has so disturbed you that you’ve forgotten a standing monthly appointment that’s lasted this long?”

He hesitated. News of Obi-Wan’s arrival would be spreading through the Temple like wildfire during a drought. Kyoga might already know, and would catch him in any dissembling. There was no way to hide his troubled mind from the Weequay. Not today. “I had a Council meeting today to hear the report from three Knights who returned from an undercover assignment.”

“That hardly seems earth-shattering. I can see you’re upset, Qui-Gon. What happened in that meeting?”

“It wasn’t what happened. It was who was in the meeting,” replied Qui-Gon reluctantly. Kyoga just stared at him expectantly. “Obi-Wan returned to the Temple today. He was alive this whole time, deep undercover, and kept the mission going even after he was recorded as missing in action.”

Kyoga smiled. “This is wonderful news, to have Knights return safely.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I remember you being very worried for him when he was first placed on the MIA list. It can be very jarring to have a friend suddenly return after a long, fretful absence.”

“I didn’t even recognize him. I walked right past him and I didn’t know who he was. What if he’s changed so much that I don’t know him? What if he’s appalled by my condition? What if a stranger has returned instead of my apprentice?” Qui-Gon’s voice had lowered to a whisper.

“Were you able to speak to him?” asked Kyoga.

“Briefly. I—I think I had a mild panic attack,” he said, embarrassed to say it aloud. Concern flitted across Kyoga’s face and stayed in his tranquil eyes. “When Mace said his name, and I recognized him. I wasn’t expecting that. He helped me out of the Council chamber. He seemed different. Mature. Grounded.”

“Not uncommon after a new Knight has had some serious field experience.”

“I asked to see him later this evening, and he agreed,” said Qui-Gon. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

“I think you need to meditate on that, Qui-Gon. I can’t choreograph a conversation between the two of you. All I want you to remember is this: four years is a long time. Knight Kenobi’s experiences have changed him, and neither of us know in what ways. It’s up to you to manage your expectations in a realistic way. He may not want to talk about his mission, or he may only want to talk about his mission. He may not want to discuss anything,” Kyoga hesitated slightly, “personal.”

Qui-Gon’s back stiffened. There was nothing he could say at this moment that would not lead to revealing the illicit training bond. “I will meditate on this, Master Kyoga. Thank you.”

As Qui-Gon rose from the ground and headed down the knoll, the rest of the appointment abandoned, Kyoga watched him go with a searching, unblinking gaze.

 

*  

 

The door chime startled him out of his meditation. He checked the chrono—was it really that late? He unfolded himself from the floor, careful of his scar, and padded to the door to press the control panel. Obi-Wan stood, waiting with a patient expression under his beard and holding a carved wooden box. He had changed his clothing, but not to the traditional Jedi robes. A dark blue long-sleeved shirt that overlapped in the front mimicked and replaced cream tunics, while the leather jacket still stood in for a cloak. He wore loose trousers, also brown, that were tucked into the same tight, knee-high boots that had seen better days. His lightsaber hung on a wide leather belt in a different spot than Qui-Gon remembered, and the blasters were gone. The beard he had kept, surprisingly, but it was now straight and neatly trimmed. He had pulled his hair back into a knot. “You look like a pirate,” Qui-Gon blurted out.

Obi-Wan, to his surprise, merely chuckled. “Old habits, dying hard, you know. I think I’m onto something with the jacket, though. I lose fewer cloaks in fights this way.” He paused and flicked his gaze into Qui-Gon’s quarters. “May I come in?”

“Of course, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon moved aside to allow him entry.

“It is going to take a very long time to get used to people calling me that again. I’ve been Ben Lars for so long I almost forgot my real name.” He held out the box in his hand. “This is for you. I picked it up in the Outer Rim, and I think you’ll like it, if I recall your tastes correctly.”

Qui-Gon opened the hinged lid, guiltily remembering the box containing the river stone, to find loose, dried tea leaves filling the box. He brought it to his nose and the pungent, earthy smell made him smile. “Sit down, Obi-Wan, and we will have a cup of tea.”

Nodding, Obi-Wan moved to the low couch while Qui-Gon disappeared into the kitchen. He had to do this now, before his courage failed or a new mission sent Obi-Wan away again so soon. The Force and his heart had whispered the things that he needed to do. He took a few calming breaths as he arranged cups and saucers, honey from his bees, milk, and a teapot onto a wooden tray. He did not know if Obi-Wan had developed a new preference for his tea. They might not get that far. He poured the boiling water from the kettle into his teapot, placed the pot on the tray, and carried it into the sitting room.

As an apprentice, Obi-Wan had poured tea for his Master countless times. This time, Qui-Gon prepared two cups in silence. Obi-Wan nodded, a bit bewildered, for honey but not milk—he had not changed that, at least. His eyes widened as Qui-Gon knelt beside him on the floor and offered him the tea cup above his bowed head.

“I owe you a great apology, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and penance,” Qui-Gon said quietly and formally. “I would that you hear the former and set the latter.”

So different, so different from the Padawan he once was, Obi-Wan said nothing. No reassurances that everything was fine, that he did not need to do such a thing. Obi-Wan considered his former Master with an unreadable expression before taking the teacup from Qui-Gon’s outstretched hands. “I will hear what you have to say, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon straightened his torso, but remained kneeling. “You were an apprentice to a broken man. I never told you about how Xanatos’ Fall left me with doubts and self-hatred and a broken heart. He left me unable to treat you the way you should have been treated: with respect, and trust, and love. My hurt shadowed everything that happened between us, and I in turn hurt you—your self-esteem, your self-confidence. I missed out on the best of you, Obi-Wan, because I gave you my worst. I let you think on more than one occasion that I did not want you or that you were not good enough. I did not fight for you the way a Master should fight for his Padawan. I was dismissive and careless even to the day I almost died.

“I want you to know that you fill my heart with pride. You have become a better man than I, and in spite of me. I didn’t get the help I needed after Xanatos, and you were the one who suffered.

“I humbly beg your forgiveness, Obi-Wan Kenobi, for every transgression I made against you. I am deeply humbled and thankful that you are even alive to sit here today. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, because all I wish for in this life is to be a part of your life. If you choose otherwise, I accept your decision and I will never darken your doorstep ever again.” Qui-Gon bowed at the waist, ignoring the pulling skin at the edges of his scar, until his forehead grazed Obi-Wan’s boots.

He was met with silence for a long, agonizing minute. Suddenly, the teacup and saucer in Obi-Wan’s hand clattered to the table, and Obi-Wan strode out the door without saying a word.

 

*

 

Qui-Gon waited on his couch, his tea cold and untouched next to Obi-Wan’s hastily discarded cup. He did not have the right to go after him, not after what he had said to the younger man. He felt paralyzed with indecision; he desperately wanted to search the Temple and find his Padawan, to discover how Obi-Wan was reacting, but the newly-healed parts of his psyche demanded he give Obi-Wan time and distance. He dropped into a meditation and waited as only a Jedi could.

A whisper in the Force prodded him out of his meditation. He blinked and flicked his gaze at the chrono, then the window. The sun was about to rise on this slice of Coruscant; the sky outside was the blue-grey and washed-out orange of dawn. The door chime sounded, and Qui-Gon groaned a bit as he rose to palm the control. Meditating instead of sleeping maybe was not a great choice for his old bones anymore.

Given the hour, Qui-Gon had expected a Council Padawan with a summons for a hastily-called meeting. Instead, he opened the door to Obi-Wan Kenobi, pale-faced under his beard and red-rimmed eyes bordered by dark circles. He had the drained aura of someone who had spent his night crying. “Can I come in?” he asked hoarsely.

Wordlessly, Qui-Gon stepped back and gestured for him to enter. Obi-Wan shuffled to the couch and sank down. When he spoke, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his blue eyes. “I just spent four years undercover, hunting the Sith across the galaxy, because I thought maybe that would finally make me feel like a Jedi. Like I had actually earned my lightsaber and my title and my place. I spent my entire apprenticeship wondering if I really shouldn’t have been in the Agri-Corps. Every time I screwed up, every mistake and misstep, I wondered. I wondered because of Melida/Daan, because of Bandomeer. Because of Anakin.

“But I’ve had four years to be on my own. To see the underbelly of the galaxy. To see the horrors that people inflict on each other. To finally come to the realization that all children must make before they are truly adults: everyone is imperfect. Everyone has the capacity for hate, for cruelty, for abuse.” He let his hand drop and sought Qui-Gon’s face with his eyes. Tear tracks glistened on his cheeks. “But people can also be beautiful, and that is more precious in an ugly galaxy. When the Sith stabbed you, I never thought I would have a second chance with you, Qui-Gon Jinn. I will take that second chance now.”

He stood and closed the distance between them. He was so close that Qui-Gon had to look down to keep eye contact. “I forgive you, Qui-Gon. I forgive you, and I cannot set any penance but this: I hope that we can make a new start as friends and equals.”

Qui-Gon was even more stunned to find tears falling from his own eyes. This man in front of him was ten times a better Jedi, a better man, than he—and he forgave him. A sob escaped his lips, wrenching pain from his injury, and Qui-Gon found himself in the solid embrace of his Padawan. He wept into Obi-Wan’s neck, releasing the guilt and anguish and the last vestiges of heartbreak he could never release into the Force. Obi-Wan stroked his hair and rubbed uneven circles on his back, murmuring “I forgive you” until the tears dried and the sobs became the occasional shuddering breath.

When Qui-Gon finally let go of Obi-Wan, he felt more at peace with himself and the universe than perhaps he ever had. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. Obi-Wan gave him a gentle smile. “Go to bed, Qui-Gon. I think you need it.”

“I think you’re right, my friend, but that goes for you as well.”

“I’ll just pass out on the couch, if you don’t mind. I, er, don’t remember my room assignment right now.” Anything else he was going to say was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn.

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Of course, Obi-Wan. I’ll fetch you a blanket and a pillow.”

Leaving Obi-Wan to the removal of his boots, he rummaged for the spare blanket at the back of his closet and the spare pillow off his bed. Qui-Gon returned to the sitting room to find Obi-Wan curled on his side, fast asleep. He smiled until he noticed the tension and weariness beyond a lack of sleep still marred the younger man’s forehead. His four years had taken their toll. Qui-Gon gently placed the woollen blanket over the sleeping Knight. He tucked the end under Obi-Wan’s socked feet, then carefully propped up his head and stuffed the pillow underneath. He settled Obi-Wan’s head back down on the pillow, smoothed away an errant strand of red hair with his thumb, and went to find his rest in his own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! I made you wait the weekend in fear for him, but now you know: Obi-Wan is fine! Some of you had some pretty interesting and scary thoughts as to what had happened to our poor Obi.
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta Aryax, who is supplying me with endless ideas for the betterment of this fic! You rock!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have some catching up to do.

The chrono read midday when Qui-Gon’s body finally woke him. He sat up and found a handwritten note on a scrap of flimsi sitting atop a neatly-folded blanket next to him:

_Dear Qui-Gon,_

_In the spirit of our new friendship, allow me to invite you to latemeal in the refectory. I would cook something, but the Quartermaster gave me a “brand new Knight” shoebox to live in and I barely have space to boil water. Meet me at 1900?_

_Obi-Wan_

_P.S. Your couch is a treasure. Much nicer than the one you used to have._

Qui-Gon meant to recycle the flimsi, but found himself folding it in half and sticking it into his pocket next to the stones while he dressed. He carried it with him as he checked on his bees that afternoon and had a quick visit with Dooku.

“I asked Obi-Wan to forgive me,” he said quietly.

Dooku raised an eyebrow and sipped his honey-loaded tea.

“He did. We are going to start a new friendship.”

“Good luck,” replied his old Master. Something in his carefully neutral tone reminded Qui-Gon of old lessons and leading questions where Qui-Gon had missed a critical and obvious piece of a puzzle, but Dooku began talking about his Jedi neutrality proposal, and he had to turn his full attention to the older man’s words.

 

*

 

Obi-Wan was waiting for him outside the refectory’s large double doors. He was still wearing his pirate clothes, but he had changed into a deep blue shirt and trimmed his hair—a bit roguish, still, but without the air of hard travel and limited access to a mirror. A grin appeared as Qui-Gon met him. “We are not eating here.”

“Have you magically found more counter space?” retorted Qui-Gon.

“No, but I just came from the bursar. I’ve just received four years’ worth of my Knight’s stipend. We are going someplace with edible food tonight!”

Obi-Wan’s unabashed enthusiasm was contagious. “My favourite,” replied Qui-Gon with a smile. “Lead on, then.”

Obi-Wan led him to the nearest exit and hailed an aircab. They climbed into the narrow seats, shoulders pressed together, and Obi-Wan leaned forward to speak in the driver’s ear. The car lurched into the traffic lane. Qui-Gon soon recognized the route. “Dex’s Diner? That’s what you consider edible food?”

“I have been living on rations and sometimes much worse for almost half a decade. Dex’s _is_ haute cuisine right now.”

“All right, I’ll bite,” Qui-Gon said. “What was the worst thing you ate?”

Obi-Wan smirked a little. They had played this game many times through their apprenticeship after difficult missions. No one ever really won.

“Myneyrshi earthworms,” Obi-Wan answered without hesitation. Qui-Gon could have sworn the man just swallowed a few times to tamp down his gag reflex.

“Those aren’t suitable for humanoid consumption.”

“I know. I learned that the hard way, and now I’m going to abruptly change the subject so I don’t ruin our meal.” Obi-Wan shook his head a little in disbelief. “Qui-Gon Jinn, the intractable rebel of the Jedi Order, is now on the High Council? I despaired of ever seeing the day.”

“And now they’re all ruing the day I took my seat, and it’s only been a few months,” Qui-Gon chuckled. “It was time. I couldn’t leave the Temple, and Mace asked me—well, it was more like he badgered me since he couldn’t just order me, but either way it put some purpose back into my life. The Jedi Order is in dire need to change. If I can’t swing a lightsaber to defend the galaxy, then this is how I can serve, and I’m happy to be the voice of dissent and the spark of change.” _Whether or not Mace wants that particular dissent._

It was then that he noticed the stricken shock naked on Obi-Wan’s face. _Way to be casual, Jinn. You idiot._ He sighed softly. “I guess no one told you.”

“What do you mean, you can’t swing a lightsaber?” Obi-Wan asked, carefully trying to sound unperturbed.

“I’m permanently on the disabled list, Obi-Wan. The injury I suffered on Naboo has never healed properly, and anything more strenuous that open-handed katas at quarter speed is painful and usually ends in bleeding. I haven’t touched a lightsaber the entire time you’ve been gone, and I likely will never do so again. I don’t even know what happened to my ‘saber on Naboo.”

Before Obi-Wan could reply, the aircar shuddered to a stop in front of Dexter Jettster’s fine dining establishment. Obi-Wan paid the driver with a tap of a data card, pushed open the door, and held it for Qui-Gon. He remained silent, thoughtful, until they entered the restaurant.

The Besalisk behind the counter roared at them. “You don’t even call first, Qui-Gon?! Especially if you’re bringing a date? For shame!”

“Hi, Dex.” Obi-Wan smiled, blushing ever so slightly, and stroked his beard.

“No! No way! Obi-Wan? Little tiny Padawan Obi-Wan? Look at you!” Dex swerved around the counter, pulled Obi-Wan into a strangling hug, then slapped Qui-Gon on the shoulder. “He’s all grown up, eh? And finally home again! It’s good to see you both. Follow me!” He led them past the row of shiny bar stools, past the low-backed open booths, to a high-backed booth in the corner. “I’ll bring you the special.”

“Thanks, Dex,” Obi-Wan replied, sliding into the curved bench seat. His gaze darted around them, noting patrons and points of egress. He took the seat facing the door. Qui-Gon slid into the space across from him, gingerly as always. Obi-Wan watched him with sharp blue eyes. “I don’t understand. You were going to be okay, they said you would need rehabilitation, and time for the cloned organs, but—”

Qui-Gon reached out and covered Obi-Wan’s hand with his own; the younger man’s agitation and confusion was tangible.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said gently, “it just is. I have this injury and these limitations that I didn’t have before. I live with them, because that’s all I can do. Do I miss duelling and running around the galaxy? Some days. Do I regret what’s happened to me? Not anymore. I have a new purpose to my life, a new way of serving the Jedi Order, that I would not have if it were not for you. I’m alive, and living, because of you. I’ve had a lot more time than you to come to terms with this, and a lot more help.” Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand, then let it go. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression still troubled. “So it would seem.” An awkward silence settled between them until Qui-Gon could no longer bear it.

“I want to know: what did you do to save my life on Naboo? It’s a mystery that has been nagging at me for four years.”

Of all the things they could have discussed, Obi-Wan clearly was not expecting that. He blew a breath out between his lips. “You were slipping away. I could feel it, in the Force and through our bond. I—” he hesitated, suddenly looking young and more than a bit frightened. “I was afraid of losing you. I focused every speck of the Force I could touch and I sent it to you through the bond. I begged the Force to help me. I was full of fear, and adrenaline, and more than a little anger.” His gaze fell to the table, and his voice fell to a hoarse whisper. “I think I might have used the dark side of the Force.” He looked so defeated, so worried, like his soul was going to shatter.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, as kindly as he could. “Obi-Wan, please look at me.”

Reluctantly, he lifted his head, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “You did not Fall. What you were feeling, even if it was fear and anger, enabled you to save my life. Just because we are Jedi doesn’t mean we don’t feel those emotions. We make a conscious choice not to follow the path those emotions lay out for us.” He offered Obi-Wan a small smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did it. I like being alive.”

That earned a chuckle from the copper-haired Knight. Qui-Gon looked away politely, pretending to search for the server droid while Obi-Wan wiped his eyes with his fingers. “In any case, I know I wouldn’t be able to repeat it,” Obi-Wan finally said.

“Let’s not find out, hmm?” Before he could change the subject and make Obi-Wan feel less like the subject of an inquisition, Dex returned to their table bearing two plates heaped with a dish that Qui-Gon could not identify. As if sensing the importance of this meal, the Besalisk did not stay to chat.

Qui-Gon picked up the two grub-sticks resting on the side of the plate and expertly arranged them between his fingers. Obi-Wan was staring at them in resignation. “Don’t tell me you still have trouble with these?” Qui-Gon teased.

“No; after a stint on Brodo Asogi, I was finally able to perfect my technique. It was either that or starve,” Obi-Wan replied ruefully.

“Then what is it?”

Obi-Wan shifted his hand behind his back, seeming to dig into his jacket, and pulled out a lightsaber. He placed it softly on the table. Qui-Gon’s eyes widened. “ _I_ had your lightsaber. I used it to finish the fight. Mine fell into the melting pit. I managed to construct a new one before I left Naboo, but I, er, forgot I had also packed yours. By the time I found it in my bag, I was a sector away and there was no way to get it back to you.”

A laugh escaped Qui-Gon’s lips. “Not that I need it anymore, but it certainly has sentimental value. I don’t even know what to say. Thank you for returning the lightsaber you stole?”

“Borrowed,” Obi-Wan retorted with a drawl. “I never intended to keep it; I’m hardly an expert at Jar’Kai. You have giant hands and it’s bloody unwieldy.”

“Excuse me,” Qui-Gon said in mock offense, “that is my lightsaber you are talking about, and I’ll have you know my hands are proportionate.”

Obi-Wan had just popped something round and fried in his mouth; he coughed, his eyes bulging. Qui-Gon looked at him in alarm, but the younger man waved him off with his grub-sticks. “Spicy,” he choked out.

Shrugging, Qui-Gon plucked something green off his plate and nibbled it. “Tell me, what have you been up to for the past four years?”

“Classified,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t tell you much past what you already heard in the Council briefing.”

“Obi-Wan, think about what you just said.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, then glinted with mischief. “What’s your security clearance?”

“Top Secret,” Qui-Gon told him, “until I murder Mace Windu and become Master of the Order.”

“We’re murdering Mace Windu? For what, beyond him not telling you I was about to show up in a Council meeting?”

“Various sundry reasons. I’ll fill you in eventually. So, what have you been up to, Ben Lars, was it?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Siri, Seressk, and I spent the past four years planet-hopping under the guise of cargo runners. We had a G9 Rigger called _The Tortoise_. Don’t laugh, that old girl could run up some speed when she needed to. We followed rumours in space ports, whispers planet-side, and generally made a lot of disreputable friends. We may or may not have run a bit of illegal cargo to keep up appearances. All to find even a hint of that damned monster. I’ll give him this: the bastard left very little trace of himself. Unless we can get that holocron to cooperate, it won’t have been worth it. Some days it felt like we were being punished.” Obi-Wan poked suspiciously at what might have been a scallop. “How about you?”

“I’ve been keeping bees in the Room of a Thousand Fountains and seeing a Spirit Healer,” Qui-Gon said dryly. “Technically, until I joined the Council, I was on sabbatical.”

“For a man who’s had four years off of his Jedi duties, you don’t look particularly rested,” noted Obi-Wan with a frown.

“Between keeping Master Dooku on an even keel and dealing with Mace Windu, I haven’t had a moment’s peace.” Qui-Gon smiled at him. “But you’re home now, so I can finally relax.”

Obi-Wan returned the smile, then paused. “Wait, _bees?_ ”

 

*

 

Obi-Wan courteously escorted Qui-Gon to his quarters on their arrival back to the Temple. “Would you care to come in for a cup of tea?” Qui-Gon asked as he pressed the door access code.

“Only if you have something decaffeinated. I don’t plan on writing my report until tomorrow morning,” replied Obi-Wan. He was so much more at ease with himself, this Knight Kenobi, that Qui-Gon kept forgetting this was the same person who had always worried about appearances.

“I think I have just the thing.” The two men entered Qui-Gon’s quarters to find Master Dooku sitting primly on the couch, reading a leather-bound book with real flimsi pages. He carefully placed his ribbon bookmark and closed the book before glancing up at them. “Good evening, Master. To what do I owe the honour of your unexpected visit?”

“I was hoping to catch my grand-Padawan to welcome him back to the Temple,” Dooku replied, ignoring the dig at his unsolicited use of Qui-Gon’s door code. He rose from the couch, pocketing the small book, and approached Obi-Wan. “It’s good to see you healthy and hale, Knight Kenobi. I’m pleased and relieved that you have returned to us.”

Obi-Wan bowed slightly, as befitting a Knight to his grand-Master. “Thank you, Master Dooku. I’m content to be back, and to see that you’ve been taking care of my Master for me.” He held Dooku’s unblinking gaze for a moment, then to Qui-Gon’s surprise, Dooku bestowed a genuine smile on the young Knight and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Of course, of course. Who else could put up with his shenanigans for this long? I managed to make it through him going through puberty; this hasn’t been quite as intolerable.”

Obi-Wan had the grace to not reply, but his dancing eyes spoke volumes.

“I am standing right here,” grumbled Qui-Gon. “I was about to make tea. Do you care to stay, Master?”

“No, thank you. I have work to do in the morning.”

Dooku was almost to the door before Qui-Gon asked, “How did your meeting with the senators go?”

“I’m not certain yet. Like all politicians, they said one thing while clearly meaning another, with the Force suggesting something else entirely. I have to compile my notes. Good night, Padawan. Good night, Obi-Wan.”

“Good night,” the men replied in unison.

The second the door closed behind Dooku, Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. “I think that was the first time he’s ever called me by my first name,” he remarked in bewilderment.

“Hmm.” Qui-Gon made a mental note to ask his mentor exactly what _that_ exchange had been about. He had never seen Dooku be so informal with Obi-Wan before. He made his way into the tiny kitchenette to prepare their tea, and Obi-Wan followed him. “The teas are in that cupboard; they’re all labelled. Pick whatever you like.”

Qui-Gon busied himself with filling the kettle with water. When he turned to place it on the heating element, he found himself toe to toe with Obi-Wan as he closed the cupboard, a yellow canister of tea in his hand. “Sorry. I’ll bet this isn’t much bigger than your quarters,” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan made no motion to back up. “Somehow I think my facilities are actually larger than this. Fractionally.” He held up the canister and popped the lid, offering it to Qui-Gon. “This one smells good.”

They were standing so close to each other that Qui-Gon’s unbound hair brushed Obi-Wan’s face as he bent over to inhale the scent of the tea. The dark leaves had a mild woody scent with a floral hint. “Reminds me of the Room of a Thousand Fountains,” Qui-Gon murmured. “Perfect.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, but stepped back to allow Qui-Gon to boil the water. His cheeks seemed a little flushed. “Is it too hot in here? The temperature controls in these rooms are a little temperamental sometimes.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, his voice low. He set the container of tea on the sliver of countertop next to him. “What was Dooku on about with the senators?”

“Promise not to tell anyone else about it?”

“Of course.”

“He’s consulting for a proposal regarding Jedi neutrality. He wants the Order to distance itself from the Galactic Senate and prioritize diplomatic missions. Essentially, he wants the Order to declare its true neutrality, which is impossible to do while we take orders from the Senate and the Chancellor.”

Obi-Wan frowned and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “There’s no way the Senate would approve that, and the Jedi Order would be ineffective without the funding the Senate provides. Master Dooku needs a way for the Order to support itself if we are truly to be free from the influence and encumbrances of politicians.”

Qui-Gon carefully set his teacups down on his serving tray. “You approve of this? I would not have thought so.”

“I’ve seen a lot of suffering in the Outer Rim, even in Republic territories, and no politician has ever been elected on the premise of helping end the misery of the poor and disenfranchised. The Senate is bloated, corrupt, and works at a glacial pace when it does work at all. In turn, the Order has become stagnant and complacent. I have no love for the Senate, nor do I believe the Order should have any ties to that organization beyond formal diplomatic channels.” As Obi-Wan stopped talking, the kettle began to shriek. He reached over to pluck the kettle off the heat source; Qui-Gon tried to grab it first, and they bumped hands. Obi-Wan pulled his hand back as if burned. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Qui-Gon replied. “I did not expect you to have such a radical view of the Order’s connection with the Senate.”

“Neither did I,” said Obi-Wan with a tiny, wry smile. “Living in the real world will do that, I suppose. There are more than a few opinions that I’ve had to revisit over the past few years.”

“If you’re interested in helping Master Dooku, I’ll let him know. I don’t think he would reject the assistance. He’s been working on this proposal for ages, and I suspect he may need a bit of encouragement to actually move forward. Once it’s out, he’s going to earn many enemies.” Qui-Gon plucked the honey crock out of the cupboard, placed it on the tray, then nodded his head towards the sitting room. “Shall we?”

They settled themselves on the couch, and this time Obi-Wan poured their tea. Slowly, the teapot emptied while they talked, until Obi-Wan tried to pour one last cup and found the pot completely drained. Qui-Gon laughed, a little overtired and a little giddy. The chrono read past midnight. “Shall I make more?”

Obi-Wan shook his head reluctantly. “I really should be getting home. I have four years’ worth of awful adventures, mind-numbingly boring space travel, and illegal endeavours to gloss over in written form tomorrow.”

He could not help himself; Qui-Gon reached out and rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I’m so happy that you’re here to write your report.”

Obi-Wan ducked his head a little but did not shy away from the squeezing fingers. “Me too,” he whispered. “Me too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon and Mace have a very serious discussion.

Despite his late night, Qui-Gon was up with the dawn, dressed, and out the door in the hopes of catching Mace Windu at home. The entire walk to the Windu/Skywalker quarters was spent in solitude, without passing a single person. _No witnesses,_ a tiny part of his brain crowed. Mace Windu had words coming towards him, and if he was very lucky, it would only be words.

Qui-Gon stopped in front of the closed doors and took a deep breath that did little to calm him before pressing the door chime. A moment passed before the doors swept aside to reveal Anakin Skywalker, somehow even more gangly than last week. He wore his tunics and leggings without a belt, and his feet were bare. “Qui-Gon? Is everything okay? It’s really early,” he said, peering at him with concerned eyes.

“Is Mace in?” asked Qui-Gon, keeping his voice even.

“Uh-huh,” Anakin replied, moving away from the door to offer Qui-Gon entrance. “I’ll go let him know you’re here.” The boy disappeared into the kitchen, but only Mace returned.

“You’re making an early start. There’s no Council meeting until 1000 hours.” Mace was wiping his hands on a striped dishtowel, and his sleeves were pushed back to his elbows. “What’s wrong, Qui-Gon?”

“We need to have a very serious discussion, Mace, and I would prefer it if your Padawan wasn’t in residence. There are things I need to say that aren’t for his ears.”

Anakin, however, had already picked up on the tension in the room. He reappeared with his boots in his hands and a piece of toast between his teeth. He muttered something unintelligible, gestured expansively with his left boot, and left the suite. Mace sighed. “He’s going to go wake up the crèche just to have something to do.”

“You didn’t tell me that Obi-Wan was alive.” Qui-Gon surprised himself at how calm his voice sounded.

“No, I didn’t. He was on a deep undercover assignment and anyone knowing that he was both alive and a Jedi Knight was a liability to the safety of his team and him,” retorted Mace.

“Do you understand what you have done, Mace?”

“I did my job as Master of the Jedi Order, and I won’t apologize for it. I kept the secrets that I swore to keep. I did not tell you because I couldn’t. Not only did you not have security clearance on this matter, I know you! I know that you and he had a training bond beyond his Knighting, and I know _you_ , Qui-Gon Jinn! Had I told you he was alive, you would have done your damnedest to insinuate yourself into the loop, to try to make contact with him, and very well might have blown his cover. Those Knights, Obi-Wan included, spent four years gathering that intelligence. You would have put that work and their lives in jeopardy,” retorted the Korun.

“I’m a Jedi, too. I know how to do my duty. I know how to keep a secret,” Qui-Gon replied. He was surprised that his voice had only increased in volume a tiny bit. “You could have spared me three _years_ of suffering, Mace. You told me you specifically sent Obi-Wan away because of your vision. Was it to punish him, the new Knight who hasn’t committed any of the errors you blame him for, or to punish me, the Master who was a burr for so long but now can’t escape the Temple?”

“I couldn’t take the risk. I didn’t know what would happen to Anakin if Obi-Wan was around.”

Qui-Gon curled his hand into a fist, digging his nails into the flesh of his hand. “Oh, for Force’s sake, what could possibly have happened? They may have met a few times? A new Knight is barely in residence for the first few years, even without you banishing them to the Outer Rim. Your actions are bordering on ridiculous, Mace!”

“It’s not ridiculous! It happened! He trained Anakin, and Anakin turned. The Prophecy of the Chosen One never came to pass.” Mace rubbed the back of his bald head in a gesture of frustration.

“Answer me this: do you blame me for Xanatos’ Fall?” At Mace’s hesitation, Qui-Gon threw up his hands in defeat. “You do, don’t you.”

“You were his teacher. You should have seen the signs.”

Qui-Gon scowled. “Oh, easy to say in hindsight. We all make our choices, and Xanatos made his. I take responsibility for my part in the whole mess, but ultimately, he chose the dark side and kept choosing it,” he spat, his calm completely evaporating. “No one else saw the signs, either! We didn’t, and now we live with it, because that’s _life_ , Mace. Obi-Wan is living with the consequences of your insane belief that somehow he will lead Anakin to the dark side. There’s no way, even if your vision was a true glimpse into what may be, that Obi-Wan alone was responsible for Anakin’s Fall.”

 “I can’t let the vision come to pass. I will do anything to prevent it.”

A derisive snort escaped Qui-Gon’s nose. “Visions. Visions. All you ever talk about is this damned vision of yours, but you never tell anyone what it is you’re trying to do! You cannot control everything and everyone to shape the future, and you don’t have the foresight to know what the consequences of your actions will truly be!”

“I have to try!” Mace shouted. “I can’t let the Jedi Order be slaughtered! If we don’t defeat the Sith, every one of us is going to die. Younglings, Initiates, Padawans, Knights, and Masters. Every single one of us!”

“Everyone dies, Mace. One Sith is not going to change that,” retorted Qui-Gon dismissively. Something niggled in his mind, and the words left his mouth before he could rein them back in. “Why was Obi-Wan training Anakin in your vision? When they met, Obi-Wan was still my Padawan, and there’s no way the Council would let them enter into an apprenticeship.”

Mace shook his head vehemently. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t? Answer me, Mace,” Qui-Gon urged.

“Fine. You want to know? _You died,_ Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan didn’t save you in the vision. You died on Naboo, we gave Obi-Wan his Knighthood in recognition of killing a Sith by himself, and he immediately took Anakin as his Padawan. The Council was split on the decision, but, like the fools we were, we acquiesced. Anakin was trained by a Jedi who was barely a Knight and grieving your loss, because _you died,_ and then the entire galaxy went to utter shit.”

That was not what he had been expecting, despite the obviousness of his answer. Qui-Gon wobbled over to the nearest surface and let his legs give out from underneath him. “I died?” he croaked.

“You weren’t the only one,” snarled Mace. He was stalking back and forth now; had he been a cat, he would have been lashing his tail through the air.

Died. Not there to see Anakin trained, not there to see Obi-Wan stretch his wings with his Knighthood, not there to keep Dooku in the Order, not there to figure out his life. Qui-Gon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. This confrontation was not going the way he had planned. All he had wanted to do was get an apology, and now he was worrying about Mace Windu’s mental health. “I should have you removed from the High Council. This vision—it’s clouding your judgement.”

That brought the pacing to a sudden halt. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, Mace. I’ve had about enough of this, and I’m sure there are other Masters who are tired of you running rough-shod over them.” Qui-Gon frowned. “I think you need some help.”

He rose and escaped into the corridor before Mace, standing in the middle of the room with his dishtowel, could reply.

 

*

Qui-Gon wandered the halls of the Temple, his mind racing with his argument with Mace. Mace’s manipulations and secrets felt like a betrayal of their friendship, but the sheer insistence on the veracity of this vision disturbed him. He needed some perspective and something to distract him. His feet carried him to the public training salles, which were mostly empty this early in the morning.

In the second salle, Qui-Gon found Anakin going through Jar’Kai katas at quarter-speed with a little Togrutan girl. As Anakin spun around, he spotted Qui-Gon and stopped to wave him into the salle. “Hi, Qui-Gon, sir. Is everything okay with Mace?” he asked as Qui-Gon entered.

“I’m not entirely certain, but it is a matter between us. I don’t believe you need to worry about it.” Qui-Gon’s attention turned to the Initiate standing at a respectful distance. “Good morning. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We have, Master Jinn, but it was a long time ago,” she replied with a bow. “Ahsoka Tano. I gave you a rock in the Room of a Thousand Fountains a few weeks after Master Plo brought me to the Temple.”

“Oh! How could I forget such a memorable meeting? What are the two of you working on so early in the morning?”

“Skyguy’s helping me practice Jar’Kai so I don’t fail my class,” Ahsoka replied with the brutal enthusiasm of the young.

“I didn’t know you were training in Jar’Kai, Ani,” Qui-Gon said. Anakin tugged on the lobe of his ear and looked askance.

“I, er, wasn’t, you know, until Snips needed help, so I’ve been taking extra credit classes. Mace won’t teach me _vaapad_ yet.” He looked vaguely embarrassed, but Ahsoka grabbed his elbow and nearly dragged him back to the duelling mats.

“Come _on._ I only have another twenty minutes before I have to meet Clawmouse in the refectory. Let’s do it again at half-speed!” She bared her teeth in a smile.

“It’s your funeral,” replied Anakin. They ignited their lightsabers; Anakin held his usual blue and a green training ‘saber, while Ahsoka used a mismatched green and orange training set. Interestingly, the girl used reverse grips on both her weapons. The children bowed to each other. “Qui-Gon, will you do the honours?”

“Padawan Skywalker, Initiate Tano, begin!” called Qui-Gon.

They sprang into action, blades meeting blades with the gentler hiss of training strength energy, and Qui-Gon automatically began to catalogue their movements. It was clear Ahsoka had a natural affinity for two-bladed sparring, but she kept tripping up on her left side. Anakin kept trying to continue with the kata. Ahsoka stopped and stomped her foot. “This isn’t working!”

Qui-Gon eased himself off the spectator bench and approached the mat. Anakin stepped back and disengaged his ‘sabers, then hissed at Ahsoka, who was staring worriedly at the tall Jedi Master. “Turn them off, Snips!”

“Oh! Right!” She hastily thumbed the weapons off. “Sorry, Master Jinn. I forgot myself.”

With a warning eyebrow followed by a soothing smile, Qui-Gon approached the girl and carefully knelt down to look her in the eyes. “I can see you’re having difficulties. Do you have an idea why?”

“I’m not sure, Master Jinn. It’s like my blade is always in the wrong spot at the wrong time.” She wrinkled her snub nose in disgust.

“You’re right, Initiate Tano. Your left blade is getting in the way of your right. I’d have to observe more of your routine to determine if it’s because of your reverse grip.”

Ahsoka sighed dejectedly. “My instructor keeps telling me to switch it, but it’s more comfortable for me this way. I can do it the regular way, but after an entire kata my wrists hurt.”

“We can’t have that,” Qui-Gon mused. “May I suggest attempting the routine next time with a shoto, instead of a full-sized ‘saber?”

Her bright blue eyes, already huge, widened even further. “I can do that?”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “You can, child. Creative problem solving should always be in a Jedi’s repertoire. But, I do believe your time is up for this morning. Off to breakfast with you both.”

Anakin’s stomach growled loudly, belying the toast he had taken with him. A mortified blush spread up his neck and to his ears. “We may have time for two breakfasts,” Ahsoka laughed.

“Shut up, Snips,” Anakin retorted, without any real heat. “Now thank Qui-Gon before you forget and embarrass yourself.”

It was the Togrutan’s turn to blush; the blue stripes of her _lekku_ darkened from roots to tips. She bowed hastily and quite a bit lower than necessary. “Thank you for the lesson, Master Jinn.”

“You’re quite welcome, Initiate Tano.” Anakin also offered him a quick bow, and the pair rushed out of the training salle at top speed, elbowing each other for first position out the door. He watched them go, wondering how long Anakin had lived with his dogged little shadow, until a figure entered the room.

“Trying to show up the combat master?” Obi-Wan teased as he approached the mat.

“Little gods, no. Just some simple meddling,” he replied. As he moved to rise, his scar pulled in warning. A small gasp escaped his lips. Qui-Gon raised his hand towards his former Padawan. “Help me up, please?”

A concerned frown line appeared between Obi-Wan’s eyebrows as he grabbed Qui-Gon’s elbow and reached under his shoulder. Obi-Wan pulled and Qui-Gon straightened his knees, but his scar tissue still pulled away from his healthy skin. Qui-Gon winced, taking a deep breath to release the pain into the Force. He hurriedly pushed aside his tunics to check for bleeding and was relieved to find none.

Obi-Wan was staring at his chest. The horror Qui-Gon found in his eyes made him rearrange his tunics as quickly as possible to cover the scar. It had been years since new Healers had examined his injury, and longer still since he had been faced with the revulsion and pity that others had felt upon seeing it. He had become used to seeing glimpses of it as he passed the mirror on the way to the shower. The shame rising in him screamed at him to flee. The illicit training bond was as tightly shielded as ever on Obi-Wan’s side, but Qui-Gon slammed a duracrete wall down on his side. “I, er, have to go,” he said lamely. He tried to walk past Obi-Wan, who caught him by the wrist.

“Qui-Gon, stop.”

“No, I need to go.”

Obi-Wan’s grip tightened on his wrist, just shy of painful. He stepped in front of Qui-Gon and looked up at him. “It’s been four years. Why does it still look like it’s only a week old?” His voice was quiet and even. His gaze, however, was troubled.

“I don’t know. No one does. It’s been like that since I left Naboo,” replied Qui-Gon defensively. He twisted his hand out of Obi-Wan’s grip and rubbed his palm on the fabric of his cloak.

“That’s why you can’t wield your lightsaber?” Obi-Wan whispered. Qui-Gon nodded curtly, not trusting himself to answer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t realize—”

“That I basically have an unhealed hole in the middle of my chest? There’s a reason I’m on the disabled list, Obi-Wan. It’s not like my name is there in error.” Ready to make a second attempt to walk out on this conversation, Qui-Gon started for the door.

“Again, I didn’t mean to upset you, Qui-Gon. I admit, it was an unexpected shock. I hadn’t realized you carried such a difficult reminder of Naboo,” Obi-Wan retorted to Qui-Gon’s retreating back. “Please don’t walk out on me because I had a normal human reaction.”

That halted Qui-Gon’s feet. He had expected Obi-Wan to let him go, to allow him to brood in silence, and to keep his feelings and thoughts away from the light of day. But Padawan Kenobi was no longer, and in his place Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi stood his ground. Slowly, he turned to face Obi-Wan, who waited with his arms crossed against his chest. “You’re right,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “I forgot that my injury is hard to look at, especially for the first time. It’s been a long time since someone new has seen it.”

Obi-Wan closed the distance between them. “I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t know you still carried a scar; bacta should have taken care of that a long time ago. Please don’t be ashamed or embarrassed. I’m not your Padawan anymore. You don’t need to hide things from me.”

Unwilling to speak lest he say the wrong thing, Qui-Gon nodded. “May I see it?” Obi-Wan said, his voice almost a whisper. “Please, will you show me what you’ve been living with?”

Still silent, Qui-Gon parted the silk and cotton fabric again. His fingers were clumsy and kept getting caught in the folds. Obi-Wan’s tentative fingers joined his until the scar was completely uncovered. Once perfectly round, it was a puckered mass of angry red and purple flesh. The continuous edge of the scar had shifted over the years, adding more tissue every time it broke open and healed again. As if transfixed, Obi-Wan reached out to touch it, but stopped just before making contact. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon rumbled. “Sometimes it’s background noise. Sometimes it’s excruciating.”

Obi-Wan did not reply. He simply stood, his finger near enough to connect a static charge. Qui-Gon shifted forward, closing the tiny gap. He could not feel Obi-Wan’s finger on his chest until he moved to trace the outer edge. Feather-light and searing hot, the pad of his index finger catalogued every bump and hollow until it reached his starting point. Unable to take the sensation any longer, Qui-Gon grabbed his hand and held it in his own.

“Is there one on your back, too?” Obi-Wan made no motion to retake his hand.

“There’s a scar, yes, but it healed cleanly. It’s never bothered me.”

“Hmm.” With his free hand, Obi-Wan started to settle Qui-Gon’s tunics back in place. One at a time, he rearranged the folds of the tunic until the scar was covered once more. “There. Thank you for showing me.”

“You’re welcome,” Qui-Gon murmured. He turned to leave once again, but Obi-Wan held his hand fast. “Yes?”

“Would you honour me with a kata, my friend? I should enjoy the challenge of performing them with mindful deliberateness.”

Qui-Gon was overwhelmed with gratitude. No one asked him to join them for katas anymore. They thought they were being kind, knowing his limitations and thinking it would save him from refusing. A grin spread across his face, crinkling his eyes. He squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand. “As would I, my friend.”

“Then take your spot on the mat, Qui-Gon, and let us begin with Shii Cho.”

They separated, finding their place opposite each other on the training mat. Obi-Wan offered a Knight’s bow. His copper hair and beard blazed in the overhead lights of the salle, and his eyes sparkled as he stepped into the first movement of the kata. Qui-Gon kept his gaze on him even as he inclined his head and mirrored the position, unable to look away.

 

*

 

He spent the rest of the day, including his High Council meeting, oddly distracted. Had someone asked him what the meeting had been about, Qui-Gon would have shrugged and guessed, “Not the Force.” His mind whirled with snippets of argument and katas. Restless, he checked on his bees, watched Anakin teach three tiny crèchelings how to blow bubbles in the pool, and decided to find a book in his quarters. Dooku caught him outside his door, his hands full with stacks of flimsi folders. “I need a cup of tea,” Dooku announced. “Possibly something stronger.”

“Be my guest, Master,” Qui-Gon replied, letting them both inside and heading for the kettle. “What are you working on?”

“What else?” Dooku sighed from the sitting room. “The same bloody thing. I’m going in circles, Qui-Gon. It’s never going to work.”

With the water set to boil, Qui-Gon joined the older man on the couch. Dooku had spread the folders, each neatly labelled in his strong, elegant hand, in an array on the table. “I think you’re the only person I know who prefers to write everything on flimsi,” he remarked.

“I enjoy the tactile sensation. Besides, it’s easier to burn flimsi than a data pad when you need to destroy your notes,” Dooku said, preoccupied with rearranging the folders to his own preference. A few more folders, stacked in a pile, sat next to his feet. “Where did I put that…?”

“You seem about as distracted as I am today,” remarked Qui-Gon. He rose to the sound of the kettle wailing and set his tea tray with practiced efficiency.

The sound of Dooku muttering to himself stopped abruptly. “What do you have to be distracted about, my Padawan?”

Bearing the tray out of the tiny kitchen, Qui-Gon found no clear spot on his table. Every inch was covered by flimsi folders. “I’m not putting this on the floor.”

Huffing irritably, Dooku danced his fingers over the labels and snatched a folder away from the corner of the table. Qui-Gon placed the tray down and began to pour two cups. “I don’t suppose you have anything else to put in there?”

Qui-Gon scratched his beard thoughtfully, retreated to the kitchen and returned once more. He held out a cut crystal bottle filled with a dark amber liquid. “Ah, I see your tastes have improved with age, Qui-Gon. Yure whiskey is the finest in the galaxy.”

“You were the one who bought it for my last birthday, Master,” smirked Qui-Gon as he wrestled with the stopper and splashed some liquid into both cups. “No other Jedi could ever afford this, even if we embezzled Temple funds.”

“Embezzling funds might be the only way my proposal succeeds,” Dooku groused. He plucked his cup out of Qui-Gon’s hand and sipped. “I’m running out of ideas.”

Qui-Gon tasted his own tea. The whiskey increased the heat, leaving a hot, but not burning, trail down his throat. Not terrible. The scent of chocolate and earth from the liquor did no favours for the floral notes of the tea. “You need a new sounding board.”

Dooku did not reply other than to take another swallow of his doctored drink. He motioned for Qui-Gon to pour more whiskey into his teacup. “You did not answer my question, Padawan. What, exactly, is distracting you?”

Qui-Gon shrugged, but a small smile curled his lips. “I don’t know. Obi-Wan asked me to perform basic katas with him at a speed I could follow. I haven’t done katas with another person since Naboo. No one ever asks.”

“I’m sorry, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said, his eyebrows drawn together. “I didn’t realize that was something you wanted. I would be happy to join you in the future.”

Qui-Gon offered him an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Master. I wasn’t fishing for an apology. I was touched by his thoughtfulness, I suppose.”

“He is a thoughtful young man.” Dooku’s arm stopped halfway to bringing his cup to his lips. “Thoughtful. Qui-Gon, comm my grand-Padawan and tell him to get over here. I need to pick his brain.”

Fifteen minutes later, Obi-Wan was ensconced on Qui-Gon’s couch next to his grand-Master, delicately holding a teacup filled with more whiskey than tea and a ginger cookie that Qui-Gon had dug out of his cupboard. He listened intently as Dooku outlined his neutrality proposal. “The Jedi Order cannot continue to take orders from the Galactic Senate. Politicians are incapable of making requests without some kind of motivation, and the true needs of the planets they represent are being filtered through bribery, corruption, and worse. I want to propose that the Jedi reaffirm their neutrality in the galaxy. Officially, we are a neutral body, separate from the Senate in that we are not political and we do not represent anyone but our own Order, but in practice, we are at the mercies of the Senate—our budget, our acquisition of Force-sensitive children, and our missions are subject to the Senate’s whims and approval.

“I propose we cut our ties to the Senate and return to true neutrality. No more Jedi missions to systems that have the resources to perform its own unbiased investigation, like CorSec. No more expectation that the Jedi will bend over backwards to fulfill every single request of the Senate. We are not here to fight civil wars, or lead troops, at the behest of anyone. We are diplomats and scholars, and at the foremost we must protect the defenceless and be a voice to the disenfranchised. We have to uphold our neutrality if we are to continue to act in the best interests of Republic citizens.”

“There are those who would argue that neutrality is impossible. We all hold our own biases and opinions. Who is to say that our biases and opinions are better, more noble, than the Senate?” retorted Obi-Wan. The little quirk of his eyebrow suggested that he was debating rather than earnestly asking the question.

“The Force!” Dooku retorted. “The Force guides us, or it should; it is the very foundation of what make us Jedi.”

“The Force may be neutral, but we are the ones who interpret what it tells us. Our interpretations are based on experience and familiarity with how the Force speaks to us, but they are still just that: interpretations. Interpretation is not neutral, and it does not exist in a vacuum.” Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. “The Force _should_ guide us, my grand-Master, but increasingly, we have stopped listening to that guidance. That is the problem with the Jedi Order. We ignore the Force when the Senate calls us. We fight in civil wars instead of creating and keeping the peace. We do nothing to ease the suffering that political leaders ignore on their own worlds. We hold ourselves apart from the rest of the galaxy in fear of the great sin of attachment, and we have become too separate from those we would protect.”

“Attachment is the antithesis of a Jedi’s life,” Dooku replied, as if by rote, then returned Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrow.

“Attachment is to put one’s emotional connection over and above everything else, including one’s duty. I see no reason why Jedi should live secluded, lonely lives if they wish otherwise.”

“Not everyone is capable of making the distinction between emotional connection and attachment,” Qui-Gon pointed out, slightly startled that his rule-following apprentice would espouse such a radical viewpoint.

“So we should ignore the connections we could make with others—the connections that could help us be kinder, fairer, and more empathetic—for the sake of appearing neutral?” retorted Obi-Wan. He shook his head and took a sip from his cup. “We are getting off-topic, Master Dooku. My apologies. You were suggesting that the Jedi withdraw from the Republic.”

Dooku was watching him carefully. “I never suggested any such thing.”

“But you did, my grand-Master. If we disentangle ourselves from the Senate, we are essentially declaring our withdrawal from the business of the Republic. Without the authority of the Republic government behind our actions, we have little authority of our own. We would have no special dispensation for any aggressive action, no matter how necessary, taken by a Jedi during the course of a mission. Igniting a lightsaber against another without the backing of Senate could lead to arrest, imprisonment, or even death, depending on the planet. The Order enjoys protection from prosecution while conducting missions for the Republic. Without that protection, we would be Republic citizens—and some of us not even that—with no mandate to operate as anything other than a particularly exclusive religious order.”

 “In that case, true neutrality is virtually impossible,” murmured Dooku.

Obi-Wan leaned back against the couch. “You also suggest that the Jedi were, at one time, a neutral body. Perhaps we were neutral at the founding of the Order, when we were merely philosophers seeking the nature of the Force, but even then, we aligned ourselves against that which we call the dark side of the Force and those who used it. I would argue that the Jedi Order has never been neutral.”

“So my proposal is moot, then?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I did not say that. We need to consider what exactly we hope to change with this proposal. Do we want to leave the Republic, strike out on our own in Wild Space and go back to being philosophers? Do we want to become private mediators for those with the means to ask? Do we eschew diplomacy and fight against slavery and trafficking rings? Or do we want to wrest control of our Order back from the Senate and make our own decisions about where and when we intervene?” Obi-Wan’s cheeky grin spread across his face. “While I may want to break up all the slave rings in the galaxy, I feel the latter choice would be best. We need to get out from under the Senate’s thumb. We haven’t always been beholden to them.”

“The Ruusan Reformation,” Qui-Gon interjected. “We restructured the Order and submitted to the authority of the Chancellor and Judicial to show we weren’t going to conquer the Republic.”

“We certainly can’t do that now,” replied Obi-Wan wryly.

Dooku fell silent in contemplation. He nibbled a cookie to give himself time to think. “All of this is only conjecture without solving the practical problem of money.”

“Were the Jedi to divorce ourselves from the Senate, our funding would instantly evaporate,” Qui-Gon explained, but Obi-Wan was already nodding thoughtfully.

“Of course it would. They’d start charging us rent for the Temple, too. We have prime real estate on Coruscant.” Obi-Wan finished the dregs of his cup and poured himself another without bothering to add any tea first. “Without the Senate budget, we would be unable to operate.”

“They can’t charge us rent, because we own the land on which the Temple was built. They can, however, charge us for utilities and diplomatic space lane access.” Dooku grabbed a folder and flipped over a page. “My projections suggest we would be bankrupt in a month, maybe a month and a half _if_ everyone stayed where they were and did not require transport back to the Temple.”

“How do we generate an operating budget?” Qui-Gon asked as he plucked another cookie off the plate.

Dooku held up his fingers and gestured for the number one. “We reduce our expenditures. We stop going on so many damned missions.” Middle finger joined index finger. “We downsize our operating space and rent out valuable real estate at an exorbitant rate, through a reputable and discreet management company.” Thumb popped out. “We begin invoicing for services rendered.”

Obi-Wan shot him a disgusted side-long look. “We can’t charge people for helping them!”

“That will make you no friends in this endeavour,” Qui-Gon said, frowning. “The Jedi are not for hire.”

Grumbling under his breath about how the Jedi already were for hire, Dooku closed his fist. “I suppose you have a better idea?”

“The Agri-Corps.” Both Qui-Gon and Dooku turned to stare at Obi-Wan, who smiled and dunked his cookie in his whiskey. “When the threat of the Agri-Corps is hanging over your head, you do your research. The Agri-Corps is the Jedi bastion of technology that no one ever thinks to exploit. We churn out more agricultural research and inventions than anyone in the galaxy. Every single genetic modification that increases crop yield, every single improvement in irrigation, cover crops and rotation, every new hybrid and cultivar—everything is offered on the Jedi data archive for free. Plans for harvesters and other farm equipment are also available for free. Charge for _that_ , Master Dooku, and we could make a fortune.” He stuffed the cookie in his mouth, a gesture of finality.

Dooku tapped his fingers on his bearded chin, muttered something about patents, then clapped Obi-Wan on the back. “Obi-Wan, my dear boy, you are a genius.”

“Some days,” replied the younger man cheerfully.

“No, you might have just solved that entire problem, my grand-Padawan,” he said, with a fondness that shocked Qui-Gon to his toes. Why were they acting like this, after years of being so stiff and formal? It was like a switch had flipped, and now they were an indulgent grandfather and his favourite grandson.

After further lively conversations about everything from monetizing the Agri-Corps to the need to change the nature of Jedi diplomatic missions, the three men were comfortably drunk. As Dooku had taught Qui-Gon to savour fine liquor in private settings, and Qui-Gon had taught Obi-Wan in turn, none of them had filtered the intoxicants from their systems. “Out of respect for the drink,” Dooku had called it. Qui-Gon’s head was buzzing like it was full of bees.

“I think that’s enough for one night,” Obi-Wan said, carefully not slurring his words. He motioned vaguely at the empty crystal bottle. “I may have been pretending to be a pirate, but I was a poor pirate. We didn’t have credits for nice alcohol.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Obi-Wan. Your brain is exceptional.” Dooku began gathering up his flimsi folders, a little unsteady, and Obi-Wan helped him with a charming quip about his taste in whiskey. Qui-Gon watched them, his mentor and his dear friend, as they stacked the folders with the care of the more than slightly inebriated. Dooku shook the Knight’s hand and disappeared into the ‘fresher.

 Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan to the door, idly musing about the way the copper in his hair changed in the softer light of his quarters. Like strands of whiskey. Obi-Wan turned, his back against the door, and smiled. His eyes were a touch glazed, making the blue of his irises seem grey, like an ocean. “Goodnight, Qui,” he said softly.

“Qui?” Puzzled, he reached out and ran his hand over the smooth strands of Obi-Wan’s hair. He could not help himself. He had to know what they felt like under his fingers.

“A nickname. A term of endearment, if you will.”

Someone giggled. Qui-Gon was not sure who. “Am I endearing?”

“Oh, yes.” That smile, soft and slow, beckoned him closer. Obi-Wan raised his chin, lifting his face infinitesimally as Qui-Gon leaned down—

A crash of broken porcelain from the kitchen startled Qui-Gon out of the moment. He jerked towards the sound and found shards of a cup littering the floor. It seemed to have fallen off the edge of the counter, placed by a careless hand. Qui-Gon sighed at the loss of the cup and turned his attention back to Obi-Wan.

He was gone. With a disappointed huff, Qui-Gon decided to leave the tea tray for morning and stumbled to his bed. Dooku’s farewell a moment later was lost to his sleeping ears. That night he dreamed of copper and whiskey and eyes like an ocean.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, folks, this was a tricky chapter to write. Many grateful thanks to my beta, Aryax, whose excellent questions kept this chapter on point and (hopefully) not a terrible mess of ideas. I know it's late, but happy fanfiction author appreciation day! Here's my offering to you.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon receives an unexpected visitor.

The insistent beeping of his comm woke him. The window in his room still harboured the night lights of Coruscant. Fumbling his fingers along the edge of the night table, Qui-Gon found the source of the squawking and smashed it. Anakin’s tinny voice filtered through the speaker. “Qui-Gon, sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know where Mace is?” The boy rushed his words together, either through nervousness at the topic or the man he was addressing before dawn. “He didn’t come home last night.”

A deep breath and a judicious use of the Force later, Qui-Gon had cleared most of the fuzziness in his brain. It did nothing for the taste in his mouth. “I haven’t seen him, Ani. You tried his comm, yes?”

“Yes, and he hasn’t answered. He was, um, acting weird this afternoon. Kinda like he was mad about something, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He’s not in a meeting—I checked.”

“Okay, Ani. I’ll see what I can do, all right? Just stay in your quarters in case he comes home.”

The relief in Anakin’s voice was palpable. “Thank you, Qui-Gon. I will.” The comm disengaged with a tap of his thumb. Groaning, Qui-Gon hauled himself out of his warm bed and divested himself of yesterday’s rumpled tunics. He rummaged in his drawer for a clean sleep shirt and pulled it on. He shuffled towards the ‘fresher, only to stop when he sensed another presence in his quarters. Palming the lights on, he frowned at finding Mace Windu lying on his couch with his arm covering his face.

“What are you doing in my quarters, Mace?” Qui-Gon demanded. The Korun lifted his arm slightly and shot him a bleary look.

“You were right, Qui-Gon,” he said, then dropped his arm back onto his eyes.

“Right about what, exactly?”

“I need help.” The words were muffled through the layers of wool and cotton, but Qui-Gon heard them clearly enough. He moved towards the other Jedi before he could stop himself. As he approached Mace, the stench of alcohol wafted off the man.

“How drunk are you?” Qui-Gon asked, wrinkling his nose and shoving the man’s feet off the couch so he could sit down.

“Extremely,” Mace replied. “I’m sorry for sending Obi-Wan away. But only mostly sorry because he did a good job on his mission. I should have told you he was alive.”

The desire to hear the man’s apology warred with Qui-Gon’s nobler inclination to remind Mace to filter out the alcohol in his system. Desire won, and he said nothing. Mace was happy to fill the silence. “It wasn’t Obi-Wan who turned Anakin. I mean, it’s not like he did a superb job of training him, but I guess he did his best. It was me. I made him turn. Me, and Yoda, and every single Jedi in this Temple. We didn’t trust him. He was so powerful and so angry and scared. We were scared of him. We never took the time to think about his need for emotional connections. We failed him, and by failing him, we failed the Jedi Order.

“He was already nine, Qui-Gon. He knew and loved his mother, and we ignored that. We thought we could treat him like every other child in the Temple.” Mace’s voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “We were wrong. We left a gaping hole that he tried to fill with his secret wife, which, gods, that kid is completely incapable of subtlety, I’ve _tried,_ and that wasn’t enough. The Sith exploited his isolation, Qui-Gon. _And we didn’t notice._ ”

He sat up suddenly, wobbling, and grabbed Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “I can’t do this alone anymore. There are so many things that need to change, and I’m running out of time, and I need help. Qui-Gon, I need you to help me change things.”

Qui-Gon pried Mace’s fingers off his shoulder. “First things first, Mace. Stop being drunk so we can have an actual discussion.”

Nodding, Mace closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When his eyes fluttered open again, they were clear if a little bloodshot. “Better,” Qui-Gon said. “Now, comm your Padawan and tell him that you’re fine. He’s worried about you.” He rose to fetch the Korun a glass of water. Mace’s voice floated in from the other room.

“Ani? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. Yes, I’m here with Qui-Gon. Have you slept yet? Well, go to bed, then, and I’ll write you a note for your morning classes. I’ll be home soon.” Mace pocketed his comm as Qui-Gon returned with a tall glass. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Qui-Gon sat next to him and waited for Mace to down the contents of the glass. “What the hell is going on, Mace?” he said with disbelief.

“I thought I was very clear about that,” retorted Mace.

Qui-Gon pointed to the door. “Tone down your attitude or you can leave. After our last conversation, I have no patience left for your cryptic answers and irritability.”

Mace opened his mouth as if to protest, but at Qui-Gon’s stony expression, thought better of it. “No, you’re right,” he said. He heaved a sigh. “This vision is destroying my life, Qui-Gon. I know that I need to do everything in my power to keep it from happening, but I’m only one man. There are too many players, too many events, too many damned things to think about, and I can’t keep on top of it anymore. I need your help.”

The Force was nudging him insistently. “Help to do what, exactly?”

“That’s the problem! I can’t think clearly anymore. I can’t tell if things are working, or if I’ve already screwed this all up.” Mace snapped his gaze onto Qui-Gon. “I need you to see what I’ve seen. I need a neutral point of view. You aren’t in my vision.”

“You want to show me your vision?” Qui-Gon asked. His brain was screaming _no_ , while the Force, ever louder, was screaming _yes, do this, you need to_. “Why me?”

Mace nodded. “I think if I don’t, I might go insane. Please, Qui-Gon. _Please_. You are the only person I can trust with this. Anyone else will ship me off to the Spirit Healers and forcibly confine me. Yoda’s patience with me is wearing thin. I can’t burden Depa with this. You’re all I’ve got.”

Qui-Gon shut his eyes and took a deep breath. For all that had happened between them, Mace was still his friend, still a fellow Jedi, still the Master of the Order. Mace was pleading for his help, and the Force was practically pushing him to do this. A tendril of curiosity wove its way into his thoughts; Mace had been playing everyone like game pieces for over four years, and now was Qui-Gon’s chance to see what had shaken Mace so deeply to warrant his behaviour. He opened his eyes. The window still showed no sign of dawn. “All right. Show me your vision.” He turned to face the Korun.

Mace’s reached out and placed his hands along Qui-Gon’s temples, gratitude painting his dark features. Qui-Gon’s eyelids fluttered closed, and he felt Mace’s presence at the edges of his mind. The vision unfurled in his mind, bringing scenes and feelings to the surface in a barely comprehensible jumble.

_A pyre on the outskirts of Theed, where Obi-Wan stood with his hood raised, ignoring the little boy shivering next to him_

_A council meeting, sending Anakin to protect Padmé without the guidance and supervision of his Master_

_The Force feeling thin, like vapour in the night_

_A missing planet among planets abandoning the Republic_

_Jar Jar Binks unwittingly calling for the end of democracy_

_Dooku, Fallen to the Sith and renamed Tyrannus, pulling strings across the galaxy like a puppetmaster, tearing the Republic apart_

_Jedi in a sandy arena, simultaneously starting a war and ending their lives_

_Millions of men, all wearing the same face but feeling different in the Force, covered in white armour as they lived and died_

_Exhausted Jedi, overtaxed and pressured by the dark side, flirting with combat mania and taking risks no sane person would_

_Anakin, confused and agitated as he is placed into a position on the Council_

_Obi-Wan, a bright beacon of hope as he defends his former apprentice against doubt_

_Anakin, confiding in him about the identity of the Sith, while he gives Anakin an ultimatum for trust he should already have_

_A red lightsaber and the quick deaths of three Masters—_

_Struggling to keep the red blade away—_

_Shattered transparisteel and the high winds—_

_Blinding, deafening Force Lightning—_

_The mask of a pathetic old man and his cries for help—_

_Anger thrumming into_ vapaad _—_

_Searing pain as Anakin’s blade cauterizes his flesh, then the excruiating pain of electrocution by the dark side, and then he’s falling_

And then, as though through a veil of the Force,

_Anakin pledging himself to the dark side and rising as Darth Vader_

_Vader slaughtering the younglings as the Jedi are gunned down by their own troops and the Force screams in agony_

 

Qui-Gon jerked his head out of Mace’s grasp. They were both gasping for air; Qui-Gon’s cloned heart was hammering against his ribs. Horror and distress were coursing through his veins. “What the kriffing hell was that?” he ground out. The echoes of breaking windows and children’s bodies hitting the floor racked his mind.

“That was what happened when you died on Naboo and left Anakin to the mercies of the Jedi Order,” spat Mace, his chest heaving.

“You can’t blame the other-me for not surviving a Sith stabbing,” Qui-Gon snapped. His heart was still stuttering, making it difficult to get a full breath into his lungs. With every gasp, his ability to remember the vision with clarity faded. Qui-Gon had witnessed an entire alternate life for Mace Windu, beginning with his own pyre on Naboo. The Sith. The Sith had orchestrated it all, and his name was Palpatine. Icy terror crawled down his spine. The implications were too terrible to comprehend. Qui-Gon stared at his friend, who rested his head in his hands as if his skull weighed more than a moon. “Gods, Mace, you’ve been living with that by yourself for this long? I understand now why you haven’t just killed the Sith.”

Mace threw out his open hands in frustration. “Yep. Not something I want to repeat.”

“Even if we did kill him, we would need evidence to prove he is what we think he is,” mused Qui-Gon. The possible revelation hit him like a duracrete brick. “Is that why you sent Obi-Wan away? So you’ll have evidence to back up an assassination?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“I am not assassinating anyone without a mountain of evidence and an extremely coordinated plan,” hissed Mace. “If I—or _anyone_ , Qui-Gon Jinn—were to assassinate him, the Jedi Order would be dismantled so fast we wouldn’t have time to even pick up our lightsabers. That’s assuming we were successful, and I have serious doubts about that possibility. I suspect that every Force-user in the galaxy would be hunted down after the murder, attempted or otherwise, of a legally-elected—” his voice dropped out, and he mouthed the word “ _Chancellor._ ”

“You’ve already taken Dooku out of the equation. He’s firmly a member of the Jedi Order,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “You’re looking after Anakin, and you seem to be doing a competent job—”

“Hey!”

“And from what I saw, Mace, something was going on between Anakin and the Sith, beyond mere exploitation. I think there was Force-driven coercion there.” Mace opened his mouth to protest, stopped, then motioned for Qui-Gon to continue. “Was a new, grieving Knight the best choice to train a nine year-old newly-freed slave? Absolutely not, but Obi-Wan does not bear the blame for Anakin turning, and neither does anyone other than the Sith. The vision did not show me one single instance of the Jedi Council wondering why Anakin was being favoured politically, or remarking on his increasingly irritable and unbalanced behaviour. Anakin himself, if he was being truly coerced, didn’t stand a chance to fight his descent into the dark side. He was already emotionally compromised. He was an easy target.”

Mace was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t see that.”

“I believe you’ll have an apology about hindsight for me in the future,” retorted Qui-Gon. “But it does suggest that there are other machinations that we need to uncover, and quickly.”

“I’ve already wasted four years,” Mace said, the frustration evident in his tone.

“And we’re still about six years away from the start of the war.” Qui-Gon stroked his beard thoughtfully, latching on to one of the clearest thoughts in the mess of the vision. “If we can’t do anything about the Sith right now, there is something we can fix: the clones. We have to do something about the clones.”

Mace pulled on the lobe of his ear. “In the vision, Master Sifo-Dyas ordered them before he died. Our Sifo-Dyas died too, which the Healers ruled to be unexplained, four years ago. I can only assume that Sifo-Dyas was influenced by the Sith to order the clones, then murdered to cover it up. I can’t be sure if it was Tyrannus or the master, because I didn’t see it in my vision.”

“You mean P—” Qui-Gon began, and Mace actually shoved his hand over Qui-Gon’s mouth.

“Don’t say his name. The Sith have powers we can’t even begin to fully catalogue. He may have spies. He may have infiltrated the Order, or our computer and security systems,” Mace whispered. At Qui-Gon’s disbelieving look over the dark hand pressed to his face, Mace added, “I’m not being paranoid. Given his abilities and manipulations in the vision, I’m exercising due caution until evidence suggests I stop or that I was right.”

Qui-Gon pried Mace’s hand off his mouth. “Fine. We need to stop the manufacturing of those clones. Political turmoil can’t snowball into a war without an army, and the idea of using sentient clones as soldiers against droid armies is one I cannot bear.” He glanced sideways at Mace. “I have difficulty believing that the Jedi Order would willingly fight a war for the Republic, and with disenfranchised clones as their soldiers.”

“It must have been the influence of the Sith,” Mace replied. “There was something … wrong with the Force in my vision. I think the Jedi were being unduly influenced, or nudged to accept ideas and orders that normally we would denounce. I haven’t felt that here. Not yet.”

“So we still have time,” Qui-Gon reassured his friend. “But we need to be careful. If even a whisper of this gets out to a single senator, and we are correct about the identity of the Sith, then we won’t live long enough to warn anyone else. You might stand a chance against him, but I can’t even swing my lightsaber. We need proof of his identity. We need to stop the cloners.”

“You go to Kamino, then. It’s hardly illegal to have cloned organs there,” Mace said, a tiny wry smile touching his lips. “Take Obi-Wan with you in case you run into the kind of trouble that requires a lightsaber.”

“Jango Fett?” retorted Qui-Gon.

Mace shrugged. “He hasn’t tried to assassinate any senators yet, as far as I know. He may be open to bribery for information. Be careful with him. He was working for Tyrannus.”

“In the vision, Mace. Please remember that Tyrannus doesn’t exist, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure he never does.” Qui-Gon’s voice turned to steel. “My Master is a Jedi in the here and now, and you _will_ remember that.”

“Very well,” Mace groused. “Tell Obi-Wan I’ll have his ship ready for the two of you. I’ll have to list this as an internal Shadow operation in order to pass it through the budget committee but keep it off the Senate radar.”

“What am I to do with the clones?” Qui-Gon asked as he rose from the couch, already mentally cataloguing what he needed to pack.

A sigh escaped Mace’s lips. “Cancel the order. The Kaminoans are not to make any more clones. As for the ones they’ve already made, if they’ve already made them? Listen to the Force, Qui-Gon. I trust you to make a decision fit for the Jedi Order.”

“The last time I made a decision you ended up with a nine year-old Padawan,” teased Qui-Gon.

“Don’t remind me.”

 

*

 

Yoda caught up with Qui-Gon as he made his way to the landing pad with disturbing thoughts and a bag slung over his shoulder. The diminutive Master was nestled in his hoverchair today, nursing his sore joints. He waved his gimer stick at Qui-Gon, motioning for him to pause. “On your way, Master Qui-Gon, hmm? A long time it has been since left the Temple, you have.”

“Yes, Master Yoda. I find I’m looking forward to it,” replied Qui-Gon. “Have you just come to see me off?”

Yoda’s long green ears twitched. “Partly. About a friend, I wish to discuss.”

“Which friend would that be, Master?” Qui-Gon began to walk again, keeping his pace slow to stay with the hoverchair.

“Master Windu,” Yoda stated flatly. Glancing at him in concern, Qui-Gon waited for the elder Jedi to continue. He tried to seem casual as he strengthened his mental shields. The last thing he wanted to accidentally broadcast was the name of the Sith to Yoda. Yoda would vanish with that knowledge and his lightsaber; for all that he was the oldest of them, the green troll could be as impulsive and solitary as the youngest Knight. “Sign you up for this mission, he did. Tell us the reason, he did _not._ Secretive, he has become. Concerned, am I and other Council members. Confide in me, he no longer does. His only confidante, you seem to be.”

Internally, Qui-Gon winced. The last thing he wanted was to get more involved in Mace’s life, but that option was no longer available now that he knew the man’s secrets and had tacitly agreed to assist Mace in his efforts. “I think you should ask him about it,” he said gently. “I can assure you that this mission is in the best interests of the Order.”

Yoda grunted irritably. “His vision?”

Qui-Gon nodded. Did he dare tell Yoda that Mace had shared what the Force had revealed to him? He decided that caution was the better part of valour. For now. He mentally punched Mace Windu in the face for dragging him into this mess, and berated himself for joining the fray. “I’m afraid so. Master Yoda, he—I believe he has every reason to make decisions based on what the Force has shown him. The Force is telling me that I must go on this mission. Talk to him. He wants to confide in others. Give him that opportunity. Drag him kicking and screaming, if need be.”

“A Councilor you may be, but Qui-Gon Jinn you still are,” chuckled Yoda. “Your advice, I will take. Much explaining to do, Master Windu has.”

“He does,” Qui-Gon agreed. “But Master Yoda, please believe me when I say we must be careful. The Sith are still out there, and we do not know what their plans may be. Once a secret is out, it cannot be taken back.”

Yoda stared at him through narrowed eyelids. “A reminder to be cautious, I need not.”

“Forgive me, Master, but I believe we could all do with the reminder,” Qui-Gon said with an incline of his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a ship waiting.”

“As eager as a Padawan, you are,” grumbled Yoda. “May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda.” He offered the troll a smile and continued on his way.

As Qui-Gon increased his pace towards the landing platform, he managed to cover the length of a corridor before Dooku stepped around the corner. The older man raised his hand slightly in greeting; Qui-Gon huffed a sigh of annoyance. He was never going to get off Coruscant. “I’m going to be late to my ship, Master,” he said.

“Our meeting is strictly a coincidence,” Dooku replied dismissively. “I’m on my way to the shielded Archive rooms. It has nothing to do with you leaving the planet for the first time in almost half a decade.” His inability to look at Qui-Gon in the eye for more than a milisecond suggested that he actually meant, _I’m checking up on you._

“I’m not an apprentice anymore,” Qui-Gon reminded him, more sharply than he had intended. “Why are you going to the Archive?”

“The Shadows can’t get the holocron to open. They’ve asked me to try.” Dooku lifted his chin proudly even as his words were neutral.

“Be careful, Dooku. Sith holocrons are powerful objects.” A thread of worry began to worm its way into Qui-Gon’s heart. Snippets of Dooku as Tyrannus, worn and burdened with darkness, flashed in his mind. _No, that is not going to happen!_ “Will you do me a favour and ensure you’re not alone while you attempt this?”

The deep concern in his voice melted Dooku’s prideful expression into a furrowed brow. “Of course, Qui-Gon. I’m not a fool. Even if I wanted to be alone, the Shadow Master would never allow it.”

“Good. Now, I really must be on my way. Obi-Wan is waiting for me on the landing pad.”

“Send him my best,” Dooku replied airily. Something about the way he said it made Qui-Gon round on him before he could stop himself.

“What is going on between you and Obi-Wan?” he snapped.

Dooku looked affronted. “I hope you’re not implying what it sounds like you’re implying, Padawan.”

“No, not that. You spent the entirety of Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship being sterner and more formal than during a difficult treaty negotiation. Now he’s your favourite grand-Padawan. What changed?”

A curious, indescribable look flitted across Dooku’s sharp features. “He did.”

“That’s not an answer,” retorted Qui-Gon in exasperation.

“Has Obi-Wan said anything on the subject?”

Qui-Gon squinted at him suspiciously. “He noted that you used his first name. Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Nothing’s _wrong_ , but this is neither the appropriate time nor place to discuss it, Qui-Gon. Not yet.”

“You are being very frustrating today, my Master,” Qui-Gon grumbled.

“Only today? I must be losing my touch,” retorted Dooku with a knowing smile. He grabbed his former apprentice for a quick hug. “Be careful, too. May the Force be with you.”

Qui-Gon tightened his hold on the older man for a moment. “And you.”

They parted in opposite directions, with Qui-Gon now having to hurry to meet his timing. When he finally stepped over the landing pad threshold, a rather battered ship was waiting along with an impatient-looking Obi-Wan. “There you are! I was about to send out a search party,” he said as he hustled Qui-Gon up the loading ramp. “We only have a few minutes left for our space lane window.”

The door’s pneumatics hissed as the ramp closed behind them. Obi-Wan led him through a curved, narrow corridor, pointing at bulkheads and doorways and talking faster than lightspeed. “Galley’s there—don’t use the left heating element, it’s tempermental. ‘Fresher, bunk, bunk, bunk, well, it was storage, but we didn’t want to share, so we converted it. That one’s mine, pick whichever one you want. Engine room is down there. The rest of the ship is cargo space. Cockpit’s up here. Take the co-pilot seat and buckle in. We have to go or we’ll be stuck on Coruscant for another six hours.”

Qui-Gon did as he was bade and narrowly avoided bashing his temple on the overhead controls. Obi-Wan was already flicking switches as he followed the pre-flight checklist in his left hand. “Do the comms, would you?” Obi-Wan asked without looking up from his console.

As Qui-Gon followed the communications procedure checklist to adjust their frequencies, Obi-Wan finished the pre-flight procedures and called into Coruscant Air Traffic Authority for clearance. Qui-Gon sat back, his earlier frustration melting into real excitement at the prospect of leaving this damned planet. Something must have trickled through the shields over the bond, because Obi-Wan turned to him and offered a brilliant smile. His eyes were the colour of the ocean today.

The sudden realization that he had tried to kiss Obi-Wan rolled over him, followed by confused panic. Why had he done that? Obi-Wan was handsome and brilliant, and they had been up to their eyeballs in expensive whiskey, and maybe he was more than a little lonely—but they were friends, and he did not want to destroy that. And Obi-Wan had escaped the first chance he got, so clearly he was not interested. _Oh, little gods, what if he was offended? Jinn, you idiot!_

He was on the verge of hyperventilating—quietly, so Obi-Wan did not notice—when the younger man called his name. “Qui-Gon, are you all right?” His tone turned to a gentle tease. “Been too long since you’ve been in artificial gravity?”

“Hmm?” Qui-Gon glanced out the window to see Coruscant’s gently curved horizon meeting the deep ink of space. The gravity plating had, in fact, engaged with an almost imperceptible hum. He managed to keep his gaze everywhere but Obi-Wan, lest something in his expression reveal his thoughts. “Oh, yes, that must be it. It’s been years.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I hope you’re not planning on getting spacesick.”

“I think maybe I need a cup of tea. Want one?” Anything to get out of that cockpit. The walls, covered with instrumentation dials and switches, seemed to be closing in on him. He fumbled with the chair restraints, not noticing Obi-Wan’s silence as he focused on escaping.

“A cup of tea would be fine. I’m just imputting our course into the nav computer.” Qui-Gon nodded without making eye contact and hastily abandoned the cockpit.

The galley was almost as tiny as the one in his quarters, but it was blessedly empty. Qui-Gon leaned against the countertop, trying to smooth out his breathing. So much had happened in the past few days. His mind was overflowing with fading snippets of a life Mace Windu had not lived, with grief turned to joy at Obi-Wan’s return, with fear for his Master’s soul, with the delight and comfort he took in Obi-Wan’s friendship. It was too much to add inappropriate desire to the mix. Feeling battered and exhausted, Qui-Gon mechanically searched the cupboards. He fixated on the solace of brewing tea.

He found a single tin of tea, but no strainer, and a dented metal kettle for boiling water on the induction heater. Calm started to wash over him as he filled the kettle from the spigot clearly marked “potable” and set it to boil. Another cupboard held equally dented metal cups that he set out on the sliver of counter. He pried open the tea canister and was assaulted with the earthy scent of the same tea Obi-Wan had gifted him. He wondered how it would taste on Obi-Wan’s lips.

A vicious inner voice snarled at him. _You are on a mission, Jinn. Get a grip on yourself._

Yes. The mission. He did not dare botch this mission; sentient lives were on the line. His sudden, inexplicable, unrequited attraction to his former apprentice had no place here. He tightened his mental shields, tamped down his feelings, and marched into the cockpit holding two cups of tea like his life depended on it.

 

*

 

Six hours of awkwardly stilted conversation interspersed with long silences was as much as Obi-Wan could take. He dragged his gaze away from the stars streaking past and turned his entire chair to face Qui-Gon. His arms were crossed over his chest. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or are we going to pretend we are strangers for the entire trip to Kamino?” he asked, keeping his tone light and avoiding any hint of accusation.

Once again, Qui-Gon was reminded that Obi-Wan was no longer an apprentice. He was no longer bound to obey, to stay silent until asked to speak, and at this moment, Qui-Gon almost wished for the authority he once had. “Everything is fine,” he lied with a half-hearted smile.

“For such a skilled diplomat, you’re a lousy liar, Qui-Gon,” replied Obi-Wan. “Are you feeling ill? Is your scar hurting you?”

He shook his head. The shame of being unable to speak his mind, unwilling to share his tumultuous thoughts, rose in his throat. He had no idea what to say.

The ship pitched sideways, throwing them against their restraints. A screeching alarm filled the cockpit. The instrumentation flashed with warning signals. Obi-Wan flipped the alarm off with a practiced hand and scanned the board in front of him. “We’ve been pulled out of hyperspace,” he announced. “Engines are down. Something might have shorted out.”

“A malfunction, or an external influence?” demanded Qui-Gon. He did not have to wait for an answer. The round, rusted, and carbon-scored bottom of a Flarestar-class ship passed over the viewscreen. Qui-Gon frowned. “I guess that answers my question.”

Obi-Wan, however, had devolved into rapid and colourful cursing in a mishmash of Huttese and possibly Bothan. He flew out of his seat and ran into the corridor. “Did you bring your lightsaber?” he called.

“Yes,” replied Qui-Gon, rising to see what his partner was up to. “Why?”

“Take this,” he said quickly, handing Qui-Gon an unfamiliar lightsaber, “and get yours. There’s a hidden panel in the galley at the back of the refrigeration unit. Use the Force to trigger the mechanism in the top left corner of the panel, and hide the lightsabers in there.”

“What is going on?” Qui-Gon asked, even as he moved to grab his weapon from the bag still sitting at the back of the cockpit.

“We’re about to be boarded.” Obi-Wan’s face was grim and serious. “If we are very lucky, we will get out of this without being delayed or kidnapped.” He did not wait for Qui-Gon’s reply; he disappeared into his room.

“Kidnapped?!” Qui-Gon shouted after him in disbelief.

Qui-Gon fetched his lightsaber and hid it along with Obi-Wan’s new weapon as he was instructed. Just as he spun away from the refrigeration unit, Obi-Wan appeared in the galley doorway. The cross-draw holster and blasters were back on his hips and legs, and he had tied his hair back in a short tail. “Stay here, Qui,” he ordered before hurrying towards the airlock.

The pneumatic hiss of the airlock opening reached Qui-Gon’s ears. He could not help but poke his head out into the corridor; he could not see Obi-Wan, but his voice carried.

“You’re pulling ships in this sector now? What, business been rough lately?” What came out of his mouth was not his usual elegant Coruscanti. The rough, low voice of indeterminate accent he had demonstrated outside the Council chambers was back.

An oily, cheerful voice replied. “Ben Lars? Is that you? I didn’t recognize you smelling so nice.”

“Hondo, you scaly motherkriffer, you owe me a hundred and fifty wupiupi. Fork it over before I kick your ass.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Things have been crazy around here, with my oldest child and heir apparent attending her very first day of kindergarten. By all reports, it was "great!" and "super awesome!" In honour of her no longer being anxious about finding friends who speak English like she does, please enjoy this new chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hondo Ohnaka and Ben Lars go toe to toe.

Footsteps approached the galley, revealing at least one more person on board. Qui-Gon threw himself into a chair, wincing at the protest from his scar but keeping his face neutral. Obi-Wan entered first; his stance had become a swagger and his expression was vaguely disinterested. Behind him trailed a Weequay. He was sporting a helmet and goggles and had a Kowakian monkey-lizard perched on the shoulder of his elaborate coat. Pirate? He smiled and openly leered upon spotting Qui-Gon. “So you’ve moved past just transporting cargo, eh, Lars?” the Weequay noted jovially.

“If you’ve started running all the way out here, Hondo, then you know that work is scarce,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Alas, we’ve had to take a contract or two with the Hutts to make ends meet,” Hondo replied. “But I never thought you three would break into the hostage business. You always seemed to find it so … distasteful.” He glanced around the galley. “Where are your lovely companions, anyway?”

“They’re doing a job planet-side while I deal with—” Obi-Wan motioned casually at Qui-Gon, “—him.”

“Ah!” Hondo stepped towards Qui-Gon and bent at the waist to peer at him more closely. “And who might you be, when you’re at home?”

A burst of warning passed through the shields over the training bond. Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest despite the irritation it caused his injury and stared back, stone-faced. “All you need to know is that he’s _my_ hostage, Hondo.”

Hondo nodded thoughtfully while his pet squawked. “That may have been true, but now you find yourself docked with my ship. You are vastly outnumbered by my associates, my friend.”

Obi-Wan scowled. “Is that really how you’re going to play this? Steal a hostage you know nothing about and burn some lucrative bridges? That’s hardly good business, Hondo. What would your mother say?”

Hondo whirled on him and poked Obi-Wan squarely in the chest. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother, Lars. Besides, as she always said, two hostages are better than one.”

Obi-Wan laughed derisively. “And who would you ransom me to, exactly? I have no one who could pay for my return, even if they wanted to, and there’s not a chance under all the suns of the galaxy that I’m going to tell you who wants that one back.”

“You seem awfully convinced of that,” Hondo replied, tapping his chin with one grey finger.

“Yep,” Obi-Wan said. “You’re not going to take me hostage, and you’re not taking him, either.” Qui-Gon expected to feel a ripple in the Force, indicating Obi-Wan had used a Force suggestion on the Weequay pirate, but nothing followed.

“And why is that, my friend?” Hondo’s oily, friendly tone hardened fractionally.

“Because you’ll happily take something from my cargo bay in compensation for the … inconvenience of stopping the wrong ship.” Obi-Wan offered a toothy grin, somehow predatory and genial at the same time. Had Qui-Gon not been concentrating on the tense undercurrents of the conversation, his jaw would have dropped at the picture of competence and illegality Obi-Wan was painting with his whole body. Awe warred with desire. Obi-Wan had not used a hint of the Force, but Hondo’s smile widened.

“That may be acceptable, since we are such close friends. I hope you would not find it rude of me to inspect this cargo before I agree to the terms,” Hondo said as he shuffled his monkey-lizard from the crook of his arm back to his shoulder.

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” retorted Obi-Wan, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Then perhaps I shall take the cargo and your friend here, and I’ll be on my way instead.” Hondo stepped towards Qui-Gon, his hand outstretched, and Obi-Wan insinuated himself between them with one rapid movement. He lowered himself down into Qui-Gon’s lap and hooked one arm around Qui-Gon’s neck. Instinctively, Qui-Gon snaked his own arm around Obi-Wan’s waist to keep him securely in place.

“He’s _mine_ , Hondo. You can have the cargo, but you can’t have him.” Obi-Wan’s tone brooked no argument now. He was keeping most of his weight on his feet, ready to pounce if the Weequay pulled a weapon, but Qui-Gon relished the heat of Obi-Wan’s body on his. The scent of tea and spicy soap filled his nose, and he decided it was the most sublime smell in the galaxy. His hand tightened ever so slightly on Obi-Wan’s waist. Obi-Wan shifted into his embrace without taking his eyes off Hondo.

Hondo had taken a step back and grimaced. “You know what, I don’t want to get involved in whatever _this_ is.” He motioned at them carelessly. “I’ll take that cargo, Lars, and we will cancel that sabacc debt. Allow me to offer you some advice, free of charge. Never get involved with your hostage. Neither your heart nor your purse will survive it.”

Obi-Wan’s wolfish grin widened. “I’ll make a mental note of that,” he said in a way that clearly meant _go kriff yourself_. “This way to the cargo hold.”

Obi-Wan carefully rose out of Qui-Gon’s lap and motioned for Hondo to precede him. As Hondo stepped out of the galley, Obi-Wan mouthed, “Stay here.” Qui-Gon nodded solemnly and the Knight followed the pirate into the corridor.

Qui-Gon counted to twenty before following them. He paused at the door, pressing himself against the wall to avoid being seen, and listened. Obi-Wan was shuffling crates and lifting floor panels that clattered and rang like bells when they collided. Hondo’s pet chirruped with the echoes. “Are you still interested in that Zabrak you were looking for?” Hondo said, his voice low.

The crates stopped moving. “What have you heard?”

“Oh, just a rumour,” the Weequay said airily.

“Hondo,” Obi-Wan replied warningly.

“You still paying?”

“Yes. Same as always, unless you have verifiable holos, then it’s double. Tell me.”

“I overheard a trader tell a friend of his that he saw an Iridonian Zabrak with yellow eyes on Naboo.”

Obi-Wan made a frustrated noise. “He was there during the Trade Federation blockade. I know that already.”

“No,” said Hondo quietly. “The trader specifically said he saw him months before the blockade. On-planet and in the city they have there. I heard him.”

Obi-Wan did not reply for a moment. Qui-Gon inched his head to the edge of the doorway to see him pull a handful of peggat coins from his belt pouch and drop them into Hondo’s outstretched palm. “Thank you, Hondo.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and faster than Qui-Gon would have believed, he drew his blaster and pointed it at Obi-Wan’s neck. “Sorry, but I’ll be taking your cargo and your hostage. Times have been tough. I need to feed my crew. No hard feelings, eh?”

Obi-Wan’s hands slowly moved away from his body, fingers spread in the universal gesture for _I’m not reaching for my weapon._ “Hondo, this is a very bad idea,” he said genially. “I’ll never tell you who’s paying for him.”

The end of the blaster pressed into the soft skin of Obi-Wan’s neck, but Obi-Wan did not move a muscle. “Oh, I don’t think that will even be necessary. I’m not blind, you know. Your … companion is dressed as one of two things: a hermit from a desert planet or a Jedi Knight. The former is worthless as a hostage, while the latter is, how shall we say, intriguingly valuable.” Hondo’s expansive voice tightened with suspicion. “How you got your hands on a Jedi Knight is also intriguing. A mystery worth delving into. Who exactly are you, Ben Lars? Are you a Jedi, too?”

Before Obi-Wan could formulate a lie in response, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and concentrated. With tendrils of the Force, he felt for the Weequay’s mind and found the cracks and broken places. Softly, he slipped in. It seemed as easy as would be with eye contact. _You will take the crate next to you and leave this ship_ , he told the pirate. Even from his poor vantage point, Qui-Gon could see Hondo’s grip on the blaster waver. _Just a joke. Forget the Jedi. Your crew is waiting for you._

Hondo laughed like a burst of weapon fire and clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “Ha! You should have seen your face, Lars!” He holstered his weapon between guffaws. Obi-Wan gave a stilted chuckle. “I’ll take whatever is in this crate and I’ll leave you to your business so I can get on with mine.”

The Weequay bent over to grab the unmarked crate at his feet while his Kowakian monkey-lizard screeched at the sudden movement. “It was good to run into you again, Lars. Give that female of yours my regards, eh?” With another laugh, Hondo walked right out of the cargo hold, past Qui-Gon, and headed straight for the airlock. He poked at the controls until the airlock door opened, then left the ship without another word.

Obi-Wan stalked out of the cargo bay; had he been a dog, his hackles would have been up. He sealed the airlock and rounded on Qui-Gon. “What did you do to him?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened at the anger in the other man’s voice, which was still firmly Ben Lars. “I told him to leave the ship.”

He ran a hand through his copper hair. “You didn’t need to use a Suggestion, Qui-Gon. I could have talked us out of that. I know Hondo. He’s greedy, but he’s not a murderer. He’s also not the cleverest creature in the galaxy.”

“It’s done. He’s gone.” As he spoke the words, the sound of the docking port disengaging rumbled through the _Tortoise_. “Why are you so upset?”

“Because Force Suggestion should be the very last option, not the first,” Obi-Wan snapped. “Manipulating people who have no ability to defend against it is wrong, Qui-Gon. It is no better than any other assault. We are Jedi. We have powers that others do not. We cannot use those powers for our _convenience_.”

Prickled by the accusation, Qui-Gon retorted, “He had a blaster to your throat. What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to trust me to do my job, Qui-Gon. I’m not thirteen anymore. I can handle myself against Hondo Ohnaka. I’ve handled much worse.”

“Maybe you should tell your mission partner what is going on next time, instead of just telling me to sit down and shut up. I’m still a Jedi Master, and this isn’t my first mission,” Qui-Gon retorted coldly. They stared at each other in tense silence. Qui-Gon found he could not bear the reproving look in Obi-Wan’s eyes. He broke eye contact first and ducked into the cockpit.

He recalibrated the sensors and watched Hondo’s saucer-shaped ship jump away from the co-pilot’s seat. Flicking switches to double-check their position in space failed to calm his ire. He was a Jedi, and how dare Obi-Wan suggest he used his powers irresponsibly? He had saved their lives and their mission from the pirate’s blaster with no bloodshed.

A tiny, insistent voice nagged at him. _You know he’s right._ Before Naboo, Qui-Gon would have pushed that voice aside, strode over it and continued on with the mission. Now, however… He had spent years reflecting on his actions and the blatant mistakes he had made. He remembered Otoh Gunga, where he pressed with the Force instead of using his negotiating skills. He remembered the Toydarian on Tattooine, who had rebuffed the use of the Force. Other instances popped into his head, most speaking of a Jedi who relied too heavily on the manipulation of others for expediency over direst need.

Qui-Gon activated the nav-computer to recalculate their journey to Kamino and put his head in his hands. He heard, rather than watched, Obi-Wan slip into the pilot’s seat next to him.

“Qui-Gon.” The Coruscanti had reappeared.

“Obi-Wan,” he replied, his voice muffled by his palms. A long silence stretched between them, each unwilling to speak first. The tension in the tiny, button-lined space thrummed. That damned voice in his mind piped up once more, urging him to say what needed to be said. Qui-Gon lifted his head and turned his gaze to Obi-Wan, who was watching him intently. “I use Force Suggestion when it’s easy instead of when it’s vitally necessary. It’s become more of a habit than I wish to admit.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I always thought you felt every mission was of the utmost, time-sensitive importance. You rushed while reminding me to be patient, and used the Force when your negotiating skills would serve you better,” he admitted quietly.

“Why did you never say anything?” asked Qui-Gon.

“Because I was your Padawan, and it was not my place to question your methods.” Obi-Wan gave him a rueful smile. “At least, I felt that way. There was never an appropriate time to bring it up.”

“I was worried about your safety. I saw a blaster at your throat, held by a pirate who clearly can’t be trusted,” Qui-Gon said. “I can’t protect you with a lightsaber anymore.”

Obi-Wan did not reply. He appeared to be deep in thought as he checked the ship’s system readouts. Finally, he said, “I’ve seen terrible things since being Knighted. The worst part was witnessing the massive abuses of power that beings inflict upon those who cannot defend themselves. I can’t contribute to that, even with the best intentions. The more often we use our power for our mission, the easier it is to convince ourselves that using that power is justified. I would rather talk my way out of a situation, or fight if need be, because at least that’s fair. A Suggestion will always be my last resort.” He swivelled his head towards Qui-Gon. “In your case, however, maybe I was too quick to judge. Without a lightsaber, you’re more vulnerable than another Jedi on assignment. Fighting your way out a tight spot is not an option for you, unless you’re willing to injure yourself. Perhaps honing your mental skills and use of the Force would be a viable option for defense.”

Remembering how easy it was to manipulate Hondo from another room, he considered the possibility that his work with Kyoga had made the Force easier to use. Being more self-aware would certainly help him attune more closely to the Force. It spoke to him with a rare clarity these days. “I’ll have to look into it. In the meantime, I need to meditate on my use of Suggestion.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head, but he seemed slightly embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry for not telling you what was going on. There wasn’t a lot of time, but I should have at least let you know that Hondo wasn’t a deadly threat.”

“He very well could have been.” Qui-Gon shrugged. “He himself admitted that times were difficult, and people in that situation tend to be unpredictable.”

“Still.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “You’re my mission partner, and I should have kept you informed. I’ve spent too much time skirting the rules for the sake of my cover.”

Qui-Gon gave him a small smile. “You’re my mission partner, not my apprentice, and I need to treat you as such. I’m sorry. Now, if we’re done apologizing, shall we continue on to Kamino? I find I’m as excited as a new Knight to get on with our task.”

Obi-Wan pushed the hyperdrive throttle to maximum, and the hum of the engines became a squeal. The stars distorted and scattered as the ship jumped into hyperspace. “Yes, let’s,” he said with a grin that Qui-Gon had begun to associate as belonging to Ben Lars.

“Obi-Wan, you are an excellent pirate.”

“I really am.”

 

*

With hours separating them from Kamino, Obi-Wan shooed Qui-Gon out of the cockpit to get some rest. His scar was bothering him—maybe the dry chill of space travel?—so he did not argue. The bunk he chose to lie down on must have been Siri’s. It smelled faintly of an unfamiliar lavender soap. He had almost drifted off into a light meditation when Obi-Wan’s regretful voice piped through the internal comm system. “I’m sorry to bother you, Qui-Gon, but you have an incoming transmission. It’s Master Dooku.”

Sighing, Qui-Gon gingerly pushed himself up off the bed. “I’ll be right there.”

Obi-Wan and Dooku were conversing when Qui-Gon ducked into the cockpit, but they both abruptly turned to him as he settled into the co-pilot’s chair. “Master, I’ve only been gone a few hours. What could you possibly need to tell me?” He leaned forward slightly. “Did you get the holocron open?”

Dooku shook his tiny, luminescent head. “No, not yet. I’ve just received word from the subcommittee looking into the budgets. They’re tabling their final report to the High Council, but they offered me an advance copy as a courtesy.”

“That only took what, a year?” scoffed Qui-Gon.

Dooku’s mouth tightened in a moue of disgust. “It’s done. No point in lamenting it now.”

“So, what was their conclusion?”

“The funds earmarked for Acquisition have dropped to a tenth of a percent of our operating budget from ten percent over twenty years ago. In that time, the number of children brought to the Temple has fallen from an average of five hundred per standard galactic year to less than one hundred. The Jedi Order is missing almost ten thousand members.”

“That’s the number of Jedi in the Order right now,” Obi-Wan breathed.

“Did the subcommittee find anything else?” asked Qui-Gon, his voice steady even as his stomach felt unsettled.

Dooku nodded, his expression grave. “The budgets were not altered to be that way by any member of the Jedi Order. The money came earmarked directly from the Senate within an omnibus budget, and no one in the Order either noticed or protested.” Dooku took a deep breath, as if to calm the anger running through his veins. “No one noticed. Not the crèchemasters, nor the instructors, nor the scores of Knights running around without Padawans, nor the High Council. We’ve been slowly but completely blindsided for twenty years, and we are in trouble. At this rate, the Jedi Order will die out simply because we cannot replenish or increase our population.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shared a look of horror. In the back of his mind, Qui-Gon could hear Mace Windu justifying the need for secrecy. If the Sith knew that the Order was in danger of imploding—or if the Sith had been the one to engineer it in the first place—he could not disseminate that information. “Master, can you do me a favour? Can you get this report classified?”

Dooku eyeballed him suspiciously. “This would only prove the need for the neutrality proposal. Why would I sit on this, Padawan?” he demanded.

“Because of reasons I don’t want to discuss over subspace communications. This needs to go to the High Council, but I want to be there in person for that session. Please, Dooku?” pleaded Qui-Gon. “I promise I will tell you everything, but not now.”

Reluctantly, Dooku nodded. “Very well, but I expect nothing but a full explanation when you return,” he said haughtily.

“Of course, my Master.” The miniature holographic Dooku pressed a button outside the transmission window and disappeared.

The silence in the cockpit, thick and troubled, lasted a long minute before Obi-Wan spoke. He tilted his head to watch Qui-Gon, who was staring out the window, lost in thought. “You know who the Sith is, don’t you? Or at least, you suspect.”

At the word _Sith,_ Qui-Gon startled. He turned his gaze to the younger Knight and found blue eyes as uneasy as he felt. For a second, he wondered if he dared bring Obi-Wan into this mess, until Obi-Wan said quietly, “I think it’s Chancellor Palpatine.”

Stunned with shock and an unexpected feeling of relief, Qui-Gon could not form words. Gaping like a fish, he managed to croak out, “W-What?”

Obi-Wan swiveled his head back to the instrument panel, avoiding Qui-Gon’s stare but speaking as though about the weather. “It’s not obvious, but the signs are there. The Zabrak Sith revealed himself during the Naboo crisis, and the only person to benefit from that entire debacle was Palpatine—a senator from an unimportant Outer Rim world who suddenly became Chancellor when there were others with more experience and more political clout waiting in the wings. He didn’t solve the crisis in any way, and yet somehow the entire Senate believed him to be the saviour of the Chommell Sector. He did nothing to censure the Trade Federation, despite the overwhelming evidence that you and I collected. I submitted all that evidence to the High Council, and they in turn gave the report to the Chancellor’s office, then it disappeared. It’s not hard proof, but it’s more than suspicious. A Sith lord looking to sow as much chaos and destruction as possible would find no better place to start than the Galactic Senate. Now Master Dooku tells us that the Jedi Order has been undermined by way of our budget for the past twenty years. Palpatine has been a sitting senator for that exact timeframe.”

“Go on,” Qui-Gon urged.

“All my other evidence stems from us tracking the Zabrak. He spent time on Naboo, before the crisis. He wiped out Black Sun. We have conflicting reports of his involvement in a rebellion of spice merchants against the Trade Federation on Chyrra. Things keep pointing to the Trade Federation, and Naboo, with just enough other instances thrown in to prevent a pattern. It’s all circumstantial. None of it would hold up in court proceedings.” He paused and glanced once more at Qui-Gon. “I never told anyone, but he came to visit you while you were unconscious.”

“Really?” A tendril of cold dread wormed its way up his spine.

Obi-Wan nodded. His voice dropped. “He said he came to see you, to check on the recovery of the famous Master Jinn, but he kept asking questions about me, not you. He wanted to know how I had saved you from the Zabrak, and how the Zabrak had fought. He somehow managed to seem only mildly interested while he kept prodding, wanting more specific information. He asked me how it felt to kill a Sith. I did my best to deflect the questions, which visibly annoyed him.” He seemed to turn to ice, with his tone hard and cold. “And then he talked about Anakin.”

Qui-Gon’s entire body went rigid. “Tell me exactly what he said,” he demanded.

“‘What a remarkable boy, don’t you think? Special enough for your Master to take him as a Padawan before you’re even Knighted. I’ll have to keep an eye on him. He might need a friend in the future,’” quoted Obi-Wan, down to the politician’s oily inflection. “Master Windu had already escorted Anakin back to the Temple. There was no reason to discuss him, especially with me. No adult with good intentions speaks about a child that way. Why would a Jedi Padawan need a political ally?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Exactly. I know that’s not proof. I just … I have a really bad feeling about him, even though he seems normal in the Force itself, and the shreds of evidence fit. He’s hiding in plain sight, and he’s now the most powerful person in the entire galaxy.” Obi-Wan’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he ghosted them over the engine output indicator, but his mouth was set in a harsh, unwavering line. He would stand behind his accusation, consequences be damned. Pride that his former student had pieced it together without the help of a vision filled his heart. Qui-Gon nodded infinitesimally.

“You’re right, Obi-Wan,” he replied quietly. “But we need to be extremely cautious. Paranoid, even, when it comes to who and where we speak about this.”

“Then what do we _do?”_ Obi-Wan asked. For the first time since he had returned, he looked lost.

Qui-Gon took a steadying breath. “We complete our mission. We send no transmissions containing reference to the Sith.” Here, in this moment, the Force whispered to him. “There are things I need to tell you, Obi-Wan, about this mission. When we were fighting on Naboo, Mace Windu had a vision from the Force about what could be. He showed it to me yesterday, in the hopes of preventing that future. I think you need to know what I know.”

Qui-Gon wove the events Mace had shown him into a narrative that left Obi-Wan’s expression stricken. He spoke of dying at the hands of the Zabrak, of Obi-Wan taking a Padawan as a new, unready Knight, of a civil war fought by Jedi, clones, and droids, and the death of the Jedi Order. The only detail he left out was how the responsibilities and grief of Obi-Wan’s life had left him worn and sad in the vision. He would spare his friend that. He talked, even as Obi-Wan’s eyes pleaded for an end, and did not stop until they reached Kamino.

The watery planet hung like a round jewel in the darkness of space. Qui-Gon watched it grow larger in the viewscreen as the _Tortoise_ approached on a vector for standard orbit. Obi-Wan’s face was closed as he concentrated on piloting the ship. Suddenly, he pushed his seat back from the controls and twisted to face Qui-Gon. “What are we doing here, then? Master Windu said only I was to go along as your protection.”

“The Kaminoans are cloners. Someone, likely the Sith, compelled or tricked Master Sifo-Dyas into ordering an army of clones for the Republic’s use. We are to shut down the cloning operation, without tipping off the Sith. It’s possible the Kaminoans are in contact with him. I can’t be completely certain of who is the clone template, but it may be a bounty hunter by the name of Jango Fett.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“You know him?” asked Qui-Gon.

“We’ve met,” replied Obi-Wan neutrally. “I don’t know if it will help or hinder our mission. If he is there, it would be best to keep to my cover story. If he finds out I’m a Jedi Knight, things will spiral out of control pretty quickly. I’ll never be able to use my cover identity again, and I’d really prefer to keep it viable.”

“I’ll leave you to be Ben Lars, then. You can be my paid guide through this remote and dangerous part of space. We’ve already been accosted by pirates, after all. I will negotiate with the Kaminoans on behalf of the Order.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That should work. As for a link between the Kaminoans and the Sith, it sounds like some code slicing is in order. If we can get evidence that the cloners have been communicating with anyone in the Chancellor’s office, or even the Chancellor himself, that’s damning.”

“I would bet that nothing could be directly traced back to Coruscant,” mused Qui-Gon.

The feral smile of Ben Lars appeared. “Then we should copy all their comm transmissions and sort them out later. I know a Noorian Lore Keeper who is particularly good at that kind of data mining and is extremely trustworthy.”

“Then let us comm the Kaminoans and ask them for landing clearance. I don’t know what we are going to find down there, Obi-Wan, but we need to be careful.”

That smile widened; it was almost suggestive, and Qui-Gon swallowed. “I’m always careful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to my lovely beta Aryax, here's a dollop of Hondo and suspicion for you all!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamino holds many surprises.

The Kaminoan representative waited with perfect stillness as the two humans hurried into the cloning facility. Qui-Gon lowered his hood and wiped the rain out of his eyes, while Obi-Wan rubbed his face with his black kerchief. Puddles widened around their boots, but the Kaminoan seemed not to notice. “Welcome to Kamino, honoured Jedi. I am Taun We, the Project Coordinator for this facility.” She offered a graceful incline of her slender body, which Qui-Gon returned with his most formal bow despite the pressure it put on his scar.

“Master Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my guide, Ben Lars.” Obi-Wan nodded shortly and looked slightly bored. The way he was able to wear the role of scruffy spacer as casually as he sported his scuffed leather jacket never ceased to impress his former Master.

“I must admit we were expecting a representative sooner. We’ve heard nothing from Master Sifo-Dyas since he placed his order.”

“Master Sifo-Dyas died a few years ago, unfortunately,” Qui-Gon replied. Taun We blinked, but otherwise displayed no emotion. In the Force, he could feel a hint of surprise. She had not known about Sifo-Dyas. “I have been sent by the High Council to inspect your work.”

“Excellent. If you will come with me, the Prime Minister is waiting to meet you.” Taun We guided the pair of Jedi through the curving architecture of the building. The constant, unflinching white of every surface made Qui-Gon wonder if the Kaminoans saw a different light spectrum. Obi-Wan trailed a few steps behind him, almost as he did as an apprentice in formal settings, hiding the way he was cataloguing everything they passed. Oddly, the Kaminoan did not ask Obi-Wan’s purpose, nor did she ask him to return to the ship. Could they be so uncaring of their security protocols, or were they so blinded by having a Jedi visit that they ignored anything out of the ordinary?

The Prime Minister, Lama Su, met them in front of the incubation room. The frill at the back of his head marked him as a male Kaminoan. “Master Jinn, it is an honour.” Qui-Gon gritted his teeth as he was forced into returning another painful bow. “Has Taun We started her tour?”

“Prime Minister. We have just begun. Should you join us, I would be honoured,” Qui-Gon said in what he liked to think of as his best diplomat voice—smooth, pleasant, and friendly, but formal enough to not seem uncaring of protocol.

Like Taun We, Lama Su did not change his expression, but he felt slightly pleased in the Force. The Kaminoans kept a tight rein on their emotions, or did not feel emotions as deeply as other species. Qui-Gon would have to rely on the Force for much of his work here. Taun We described the cloning process as they watched fetal humanoids inside their incubation tanks sleep, kick, and roll over, unaware they were not in a real womb carried by a mother. Qui-Gon was shocked at the sheer size of the facilities; with a quick glance, he estimated there were more than five hundred incubation tanks in his field of view. “How many clones do you have?”

“There are currently ten thousand fully-grown clones ready for you, with again as many ready within the next six months. We are on track for the original order of one million to be completed within six years,” Lama Su replied.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s shock leak through the tight shields over their bond. The Knight’s face, however, still held a mask of unperterbed boredom. “The Kaminoans have truly made impressive scientific strides,” said Qui-Gon as Taun We ushered the group towards the next stop on their tour: the learning centre for child clones. He watched hundreds of children, all wearing the same soft-cheeked amber skin. Their eyes never flicked upwards to peek at the visitors. Green and blue screens illuminated their features as they worked. Every single face still bore baby fat. “The clones have an accelerated growth pattern modified into their genes. They reach adulthood in ten years, which I think you would agree is remarkable,” Taun We said. A bleak wisp of Mace Windu’s vision surfaced in Qui-Gon’s mind, whispering about speedies.

“Does the acceleration continue past adulthood?” asked Qui-Gon. A knot of tension was firmly forming in his gut with every new fact about the clone army the Jedi Order had acquired.

“To a degree. We cannot predict exactly a clone’s lifespan once out of the facility. As you know, environment impacts genetic expression. Perfect genetic replication over this many units is statistically and practically impossible. We would, however, safely say a clone has an average lifespan of twenty-five years.” Taun We swayed her head expectantly. Qui-Gon faked an impressed noise.

“I see.” Lama Su led them to the next viewing window, where clones wearing red jumpsuits were eating their evening meal. Rows of tables, filled with identical faces wearing identical clothing, eating identical meals, covered every available inch of space in the dining hall. _What can we possibly do with them? Where do I even start?_ “What other modifications did you make?”

“Every clone has been genetically altered to be more docile and disciplined than the prime. They are programmed to take orders and have been behaviourally modified for loyalty to the Galactic Republic. Just as Master Sifo-Dyas requested, Master Jinn. This way, please,” said Taun We, gliding away from the viewing window.

Before Qui-Gon could follow, a clone glanced up from his tray and locked eyes with him. His face was neutral, but Qui-Gon could feel the clone’s presence in the Force—the quietly dancing spark of a person without Force sensitivity. The longer he stared at the clone, the more quickly he realized that he could feel all of the clones. Each spark was quiet, but every single one was _different_. For all the Kaminoans had used the same genetic template, they had created individuals. Listen to the Force, Mace had said. He was listening now, and the Force was telling him stories of ten thousand people born of the same father. An overwhelming sense of responsibility for the lives of these clones washed over him; he set his mouth in a grim line. He would not allow these clones to be used as flesh and blood machines of war. Over his hard-to-kill body. He felt fingers brush against the back of his hand, and he glanced sideways to find Obi-Wan’s gaze both curious and concerned. _Later_ , he mouthed. Obi-Wan lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement that the question would not be forgotten, then returned to trailing behind Qui-Gon.

The final stop on the tour was to watch a regiment in shiny white Mandalorian-style armour practice drill movements on a massive parade square. Their movements were so precise, so sharp, that it could be easy to forget that there were people inside the armour, not just droids covered to look like soldiers. Qui-Gon swallowed the horror rising in his throat and managed to say, “Excellent work. Is there somewhere we could speak privately? There are a few things I wish to discuss.”

Lama Su and Taun We exchanged a glance before the former nodded. “Of course. Will your, ah, companion be joining us?”

Now was Obi-Wan’s chance to break away and track down an access point for the Kaminoan computer system. “I’ll just head back to the ship, I suppose,” he said, still maintaining his air of casual ennui.

“That would be appreciated, thank you, Mister Lars,” Qui-Gon replied.

Obi-Wan had barely taken two steps before a tiny boy with dark brown hair and the same amber skin as the clones came barrelling down the corridor, looking over his shoulder as he ran straight into Obi-Wan’s legs. The boy bounced off the Knight’s thighs and landed ungracefully on his rear. He peered resentfully up at his speedbump.

“Hey!” the boy snapped.

“Boba,” Taun We said. Her tone did not change, but the little boy’s face instantly changed to regret.

“Sorry, Taun We,” he said, his voice quiet. Obi-Wan knelt down and offered Boba a hand up.

“You were going so fast I didn’t have time to get out of your way,” Obi-Wan told the boy. “Sorry about that.”

Boba ignored the proffered hand and pushed himself off the floor. He shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, but another man was rounding the bend. His irritated expression almost made Qui-Gon miss the same features sported by the adult clones. “Boba, I told you that bathtime was not optional—” The man snapped his mouth shut as he recognized the Prime Minister and two strangers. “Pardon us, Prime Minister, I’ll just—Lars.” It was not a question, but rather a slightly surprised inflection as the man’s eyes spied Obi-Wan.

“Hey, Jango.” Obi-Wan’s mouth twisted up in a smirk. His Ben Lars voice held a touch of teasing. “Cute kid.”

“I’m standing right here,” Boba protested.

Obi-Wan turned his gaze on the boy, who Qui-Gon guessed was newly four. “You’re right, I’m being rude. My apologies, Boba Fett. We haven’t met properly, but your father told me all about you the last time we ran into each other. I’m Ben Lars.”

Boba started to inch away, shy under adult attention, but Jango nudged his shoulder. “Manners,” he whispered to his son.

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said quietly, his eyes on the floor.

“What are you doing here, Lars?” Jango asked, his voice flat.

“Paid work,” quipped Obi-Wan. He jerked a thumb at Qui-Gon. “Turns out the Jedi aren’t as stingy as their reputation suggests.”

Jango Fett’s eyes narrowed, instantly sizing Qui-Gon up. The Jedi Master stood perfectly still, shoulders back and chin level with the floor. Qui-Gon could have been a placid statue except for the steely glint in his own bright blue eyes. “Jedi?” Jango asked Obi-Wan without taking his eyes off Qui-Gon. “Since when do you work for kriffing Jedi?”

“Since I need to eat actual food to continue my miserable existence, Jango,” retorted Obi-Wan. “Besides, he’s paying me double. You live here, Jango? You gotta show me your digs. You must be living like the King of Toydaria.”

Jango gave Qui-Gon a hard stare before taking Boba’s hand and following Obi-Wan. “Yeah, all right. Boba needs to get to bed.”

The bounty hunter, the Jedi, and the tiny clone boy disappeared back down the corridor. The boy wriggled his chubby hand out of Jango’s hand and sprinted away. “I assume that was your prime clone,” Qui-Gon noted once they were out of earshot.

Taun We bobbed her tiny head. “Yes. We’ve found him most helpful in training the clones.”

“And the boy?”

“An unaltered clone. Along with his monetary compensation, it was his only request. He’s raising Boba as his son,” she explained. Her tone changed just enough for Qui-Gon to notice affection for the boy. Lama Su led them through another set of corridors to a perfectly round room. He motioned for Qui-Gon to sit on a pendant chair, gently luminescent and shaped like a teardrop, while he took his own seat. Taun We stood behind Qui-Gon, waiting attentively.

“What exactly would you like to discuss, Master Jinn? I trust the clones are to your satisfaction.” Lama Su’s voice held the barest tinge of worry.

“Oh, yes, the clones are excellent. It’s just that the Jedi Order would like to put a hold on any new clone production, effective immediately.” Qui-Gon could feel the Kaminoans’ surprise, though their faces did not change.

Lama Su blinked his large grey eyes. “A hold? For how long?”

“Indefinitely.”

“But, Master Jinn, the funds for the full order are still in our trust accounts. The contract was very clear. We were to develop a clone army for the Galactic Republic, with transactions and specifications provided by the Jedi Order. To change the contract at this late hour is, frankly, impossible.”

Qui-Gon stroked his beard to give him a moment to think. How much money could this be costing? Where would the money for this be coming from? “Forgive me, Prime Minister, but I do not have the contract with me. Exactly how many credits are you still holding?”

“Four billion Republic credits,” he said calmly. Only decades spent at the negotiating table let Qui-Gon keep his face a neutral mask. A fortune, and not a small one. He nodded confidently. A whisper in his mind urged him to use a Suggestion and be done with this, but Qui-Gon squashed it. He was a Jedi Master, a diplomat of the highest caliber, and he could negotiate his way through this.

“Excellent, Prime Minister, thank you. I want to be clear that the change in our order has nothing to do with the quality of the clones, or the truly impressive work that Taun We has done here. I am more than satisfied with both. The matter is an internal one of some … sensitivity. As a recompense for changing the contract this far into the manufacturing process, I would propose a billion credits stay in your coffers.” It felt strange to say _a billion credits_ , and he imagined Dooku railing at him for not offering a much lower number.

That seemed to tamp down any protests the Prime Minister of Kamino may have been planning. Qui-Gon managed to keep his face impassive as he recalled Dooku, raven haired and regal, whispering to his gangly apprentice after he had negotiated a hefty bribe to stop a civil war. _Money talks._ “A billion credits? Very well, Master Jedi. I am reluctant to put an end to this project, but I will do what the Jedi ask of me. What are your instructions regarding the immature clones?” Lama Su asked, his head swaying slightly as he spoke.

“Allow them to mature, but create no new fetal clones. The last batch you have started will be the last.”

“Will you please stay with us for a while longer? It is late, and you have come a long way. Tomorrow morning, I will arrange a demonstration of the clones’ abilities for you,” said Lama Su. “Taun We, ensure Master Jinn is assigned guest quarters for the remainder of his visit.”

“A kind offer. I look forward to it,” replied Qui-Gon. “The Council is looking forward to my report on the clones’ progress. If you set up a banking terminal for me tomorrow, I will ensure your credits are transferred out of the trust and into any account you wish.”

Lama Su bent his head in acknowledgement and dismissal. Qui-Gon slid out of his chair, marvelling at the lack of pressure it put on his wound and considered asking for one to take home with him. Again he made sharp pain his friend as he bowed back to the Prime Minister. Taun We escorted him out into the hall. “Do you require communication facilities, Master Jinn? We can make a detour if you cannot wait for your guest quarters to be ready.”

Qui-Gon waved her off. “No, that’s not necessary. I would, however, like to interview your prime clone. Jango Fett, was the name?”

“Yes,” Taun We replied. “I will take you to him.”

Jango Fett opened the door to his quarters with an air of exasperation. “What is it, Taun We? Boba’s in bed already.” His face hardened as he spotted Qui-Gon. “What do you want?”

“I only wish to talk. I’m interested in the training you are providing the clones,” Qui-Gon answered.

“And that has to happen tonight?”

From the depths of the Fetts’ rooms, Ben Lars’ voice said, “Oh, just let him in, Jango.”

With a sigh, Jango smacked the doorframe with one hand and stepped aside to allow Qui-Gon entry. Taun We made her excuses and glided away. Qui-Gon followed Jango into the main room, where Obi-Wan was sitting at a small table, twirling his fork absently. The table was set for two, and the meal had clearly just been served. “Why don’t you join us, Master Jinn? I know you haven’t eaten yet,” Obi-Wan said casually.

Jango glared at him. “Yes, please join us. I’ll fetch another setting.” The bounty hunter disappeared into the kitchen while Qui-Gon slid into the empty chair at the end of the table. He quirked his eyebrow at Obi-Wan, who shook his head minutely. _Talk later._ Jango returned and placed the plate and utensils in front of his unwanted guest, then regained his own seat. “What do you want to know?”

“What kind of training are you providing to the clones?” Qui-Gon asked as he helped himself to the pasta dish.

Jango stabbed a vegetable with a little more force than Qui-Gon thought strictly necessary. “Tactics. Stealth.”

“That’s all?” interjected Obi-Wan as he sipped at his wine. “You said you were teaching them Mando’a.”

The furious glare Jango shot the copper haired Knight could have peeled paint. Obi-Wan just gave him a little smirk behind the rim of his wine glass. “That, too,” he said in a cold voice.

Surprised, Qui-Gon nearly dropped his fork. “You’re following the _Resol’nare_ with the clones?”

“I am Mandalorian,” was all Jango said in terse reply. Qui-Gon nodded, not wanting to aggravate the man further. The fact that the template was treating his clones like his family, though … that was interesting.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, kept poking. “Tell him about how you even agreed to this gig, Jango. It’s a good story.”

“Keep your voice down; my son is sleeping,” snapped Jango. “Why should I tell him?”

“Sorry,” murmured Obi-Wan. He shrugged. “I just thought we could use some lively conversation. Besides, you know he’s going to ask the question anyway.”

Jango turned his attention to Qui-Gon. “You want to know why I’m here, Jedi?” At Qui-Gon’s nod, Jango drained his wine glass and set it carefully on the table. “Money. I’m being paid a lot of money to be here, and they agreed to give me Boba. I have everything I need, and my son is with me in a safe place.”

“That’s not the whole story,” prodded Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon was starting to wonder why his partner kept digging at Jango. All Obi-Wan had said was that he and Jango had met, but there was clearly more to it than that. Leaning over his half-empty plate, Obi-Wan whispered comically, “Tell him about the scary monster.”

Rolling his eyes at Obi-Wan, Jango said, “The Zabrak who offered me the contract?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “‘Offered,’ you say. The way you told it, it was more like ‘told you to show up here or he would skewer you.’”

“A Zabrak offered you the contract to be cloned on Kamino?” Qui-Gon clarified. “Really?”

Jango shrugged. “Yeah. Unpleasant fellow. Black tattoos all over his face. Could use some serious teeth cleaning. That’s the whole story.” The Sith apprentice had been the one to find the prime clone, and the witness had been left alive. Qui-Gon needed to think, and he could not do it with Jango Fett’s hostility clogging his senses. As if hearing Qui-Gon's thoughts, Jango pushed himself away from the table. “Well, I think our lovely meal has come to an end. Good night, Master Jedi.”

Jango rose from his seat, his hands clenched on the back of his chair. Qui-Gon did not feel the need to argue; any further questions were clearly going to be unanswered. He followed suit and allowed Jango to escort him to the door. “I have some maintenance to do on the _Tortoise_ this evening, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan called from the table as he tipped his chair back on two legs. “I’ll be in the engine room if you need me to help you with your bags.”

“How very kind. Thank you, Mister Lars.” Qui-Gon nodded to Jango, who appeared impatient to get rid of him. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mister Fett.”

Jango offered him a cool smile and promptly closed the door the second Qui-Gon’s boots hit the hallway tiles. Qui-Gon settled his hood around his face in anticipation of the rain as he made his way to the outer doors. Obi-Wan had some explaining to do when he finally returned to the _Tortoise._

*

The metallic rattling of the cargo ramp engaging announced Obi-Wan’s arrival an hour and a half later. Qui-Gon was sitting in the co-pilot’s chair, nursing a cup of tea and watching the rain fall in sheets over the transparisteel viewscreen. An occasional flash of lightning dimly lit the curves of the cloning facility. Obi-Wan finally appeared with a towel hanging around his neck. He was vigorously rubbing the back of his head with the end of the towel as he sat down in the pilot’s seat. “Oh, I don’t suppose there’s more water boiled?” he asked wistfully as he spotted Qui-Gon’s tea.

“The kettle’s full,” he replied. “Tea’s on the counter for you.”

“May the Force bless you forever,” Obi-Wan sighed happily. He ducked out of the cockpit, leaving a dripping trail of water on the deck behind him. When he returned, holding a steaming mug of tea, he dropped the towel on the seat before sitting down. The leather pilot’s jacket was missing, and Obi-Wan’s dark shirt clung to him in all the right spots. Qui-Gon fought down a blush by taking a swallow of his tea. “How did it go with the Kaminoans?” he said in his normal voice. He cleared his throat a few times and shrugged ruefully at Qui-Gon’s concerned glance. “Ben Lars voice takes a bit of effort in this humidity.”

“They agreed to put a halt to any new clones. They have four billion credits in reserve for our use. I told them to keep one.”

Obi-Wan nearly choked on his tea. “Four _billion_ credits? Where did that money even come from?”

“They didn’t say, but I’m going to initiate a banking transfer tomorrow. I’ll be able to download all the data surrounding the trust account as a member of the High Council.”

“Where are we going to put the money?” Obi-Wan leaned forward. “We can’t put it back in the Jedi coffers. Someone will notice if we suddenly have a decade’s worth of budget in our accounts. Any large transfer like that will attract attention that we can’t afford.”

Qui-Gon tapped his lips with his finger. “So we break it up. Make multiple deposits.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Exactly. As to where? I’m no financial expert, but I know someone who is.”

A small chuckle escaped Qui-Gon’s throat. “I’m starting to think we should have brought Dooku along. I’ll send a transmission in the morning and ask for his advice.”

“That money would go a long way to securing the Order’s independence from the Senate’s funding,” mused Obi-Wan. His fingers tapped the side of his mug.

“If we can manage to do this without every single credit being seized, it will be a bloody miracle,” Qui-Gon groused. “Fortunately, Lama Su seems intent on impressing us. I sense no suspicion in him.”

“That will help me, if that’s the case. I’m going to set up a slicing program in the Kaminoan central computer system. I want every single iota of data on what they did to alter the clones and their behaviour modifications. Did you hear them? ‘Loyalty to the Galactic Republic.’ I don’t know about you, but that sends chills down my spine. The Republic hasn’t had a standing army in a thousand years. It’s becoming clearer that Master Sifo-Dyas was compelled to come here by the Sith, so I want to know exactly to whom these clones are supposed to be loyal. I seriously doubt it’s to the grand ideal of the Republic.” Obi-Wan took a sip from his cup, then slowly cradled it in his palm. “Gods, Qui-Gon, what if the clones are programmed to be loyal to the Chancellor?”

“Then the Sith would have an army at his disposal, and we need to do everything in our power to stop that from happening.” Qui-Gon replied. “If what Fett said about the Zabrak is true, then we have a solid link between the Sith and the cloning operation here.”

“It’s true,” Obi-Wan said. “He described the Zabrak to me in detail, and it matches exactly the one we fought on Naboo.”

The question left his lips before he could stop them. “How do you know Jango Fett?”

Obi-Wan stopped his cup half-way to his mouth. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I, er, met him undercover. I pulled him out of a bad situation on Rishi just before he received Boba.” Qui-Gon said nothing, waiting for the details he suddenly realized he did not want. Obi-Wan did not look him in the eyes. A faint blush rose on his cheeks. “We spent a few nights together before the mission took us to the next spaceport.”

“I see.” Qui-Gon’s heart, while somehow expecting this, still fell. He had been hoping for a different answer. He could not begrudge Obi-Wan physical affection in the middle of a long and lonely mission, but at the same time he could not help the disappointment threaded through with jealousy that stuck in his throat. An abrupt change of subject covered the increasingly long silence between them. “How long will the slicing take?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “A while. The program itself won’t take long to code, but working into the mainframe without being noticed will take some time. I passed a terminal that should give me access. Six hours, maybe? And then I’ll have to copy all that information into our reserve computer here on the _Tortoise_ to take back to the Temple. I don’t dare transmit it over subspace, even encrypted.”

“I wouldn’t recommend going back into the facility tonight. A spacer wandering around a secret cloning project at night would attract no little attention. I guess we know what you’re doing while I ‘inspect’ the clones,” Qui-Gon replied. He tipped his mug back and drained the last bitter dregs of his cooled tea. “Taun We arranged guest quarters for me. I should probably go find them, since I’m the honoured Jedi Master.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Poor spacer Ben Lars will just be here, sleeping on his intolerable bunk with the heater on so his clothes will be damp in the morning, ready for another soaking.”

Qui-Gon managed a soft smile, though his bruised heart wished to just escape. “Good night, Obi-Wan.”

“Good night, Qui,” came the answer as Qui-Gon ducked under the doorframe.

*

The mention of four billion credits managed to raise not one, but both, of Master Dooku’s eyebrows. “The Kaminoans are getting history’s best bonus, Qui-Gon,” he said. “If this is what you pass as haggling, I severely neglected your education in this matter.” Then, a touch plaintively, “You couldn’t have offered even half of that?”

“I didn’t want to raise their suspicions. Besides, you never haggle when you’re the one breaking a contract. _You_ taught me that, Master.”

The tiny holoprojection of the elder Jedi snorted irritably. “I suppose I did.” He reached out of the projection matrix, and when he straightened, he was holding a data reader. “I have a secure bank account with the First Bank of Serenno, as well as various other accounts spread among the intergalactic banking clans. I’m sending you the deposit access codes. It is imperative that you put exactly twenty-five million credits in each account before depositing the rest in the Serenno account.”

“Why?” asked Qui-Gon as he grabbed a datastick to download the incoming information.

“Because anything more will be automatically subject to an audit. My account on Serenno is not subject to the usual financial rules because I’m a member of the ruling house, but over a billion credits is still more than I’d prefer to keep in one place.”

Qui-Gon watched the incoming data packet and frowned. “Master, you’ve sent me codes for fifty different bank accounts. Do you know how long it will take me to transfer money to all of them?”

“About as long as it took for me to set them all up,” Dooku replied dryly. “Have fun. And should any of the banks send you a request for further information, direct them to me. I’ll handle them. Dooku out.”

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon chuckled as the tiny Dooku winked out of existence. He plucked the datastick out of its socket and held it up in amazement. “‘More than I’d prefer to keep in one place,’ indeed.”

*

The clones were terrifyingly impressive. Qui-Gon spent the morning watching them perform various battle drills, including a particularly difficult section attack that involved droidekas. His mind wandered, hoping to the Force that Obi-Wan was successful with his slicing. Before he had left the _Tortoise_ , Obi-Wan had hidden himself in the Force; Qui-Gon had felt the bond disappear, only to have a rising panic grip his heart as he remembered the first time that had happened. A whisper through the missing bond had reassurred him that Obi-Wan was still there, still alive.  The whole experience had jarred him, and his focus that morning was scattered. He found he could no longer watch such a blatant display of violence orchestrated for him alone and turned to Lama Su. “I would like to speak to a couple of the clone commanders, if that could be arranged.”

Lama Su gracefully inclined his head. “Of course, Master Jinn.” Taun We left his side, and while Qui-Gon waited for the clones to arrive, he hoped Obi-Wan was having success with his slicing program. He had spent a restless night in the Kaminoan guest quarters, kept awake by the odd brightness of the white walls, the wailing wind, and images of Jango Fett kissing his copper Knight. His eyes felt the heaviness of poor sleep.

Taun We escorted two clones in full Mandalorian-inspired armour to the viewing platform and introduced them. “CT-7567 and CT-2224, may I present Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn,” she said in her soft, even voice. Both clones snapped to attention and saluted.

“Sir!” they barked together.

“At ease, please,” Qui-Gon replied. The clones clasped their hands behind their backs and stood with their feet shoulder-width apart. “Ah, would you mind removing your helmets? I find it easier to speak face to face.”

“Of course sir,” replied the first clone. When the clone pulled off his helmet, Qui-Gon was startled to find Jango Fett’s face, unscarred, with shorn blond hair. The other clone followed suit, but his hair was dark.

Qui-Gon nodded in thanks. “Thank you, ah, CT-7567.”

“Rex, sir,” replied the clone stiffly. “The numbers become cumbersome after a time.”

In the Force, Qui-Gon could feel that this clone—this man—was honest and competent. He offered a small smile. “Of course. Rex. And your name?”

“Cody, sir.” This one seemed to be sterner than his counterpart.

“A pleasure to meet you both. I was hoping the two of you would join me on my return trip to Coruscant to meet the Jedi High Council.”

Even Lama Su seemed surprised. He blinked slowly at the human. “Coruscant, Master Jinn?”

Qui-Gon nodded, standing up as straight as he could. “Yes, Prime Minister. The Council wishes to speak to these clones in person about their future with the Jedi Order.”

Rex and Cody kept their identical faces completely impassive as Lama Su swayed his head for a moment, thinking. “I cannot deny you this, Master Jinn, since they are property of the Republic, under the supervision of the Jedi Order. I only hope these two clones meet the Council’s expectations.”

“Excellent. I’m sure they will do great credit to Kamino,” replied Qui-Gon. “I shall call for them before my departure in the morning. I wish to see the young clones as they train this afternoon. I have no doubt it is as fascinating as watching Jedi Initiates learn their katas.”

“Very good, Master Jinn,” Taun We said. “We shall have a special evening meal for you tonight in honour of your visit.”

“I look forward to it.”

*

The evening meal was an intimate affair, with Lama Su and Taun We graciously adding a seat for Qui-Gon’s guide next to Jango Fett at Qui-Gon’s request. Boba, it seemed, was already in bed by the time Qui-Gon arrived, and the Jedi Master was envious. He had spent four and a half hours conducting banking transactions and surreptitiously copying financial records under the uninterested watch of Yene An, the Kaminoan financial minister. Yene An had been less than enthusiastic to interact with the human Jedi, which had suited Qui-Gon just fine. Xenophobia was apparently a larger problem among the Kaminoans than he had suspected.

Obi-Wan hurried in behind him, looking decently well-groomed for his spacer persona. Lama Su offered Qui-Gon a place at the end of the table across from him; Qui-Gon watched as Jango pulled out a chair for Obi-Wan and poured him a glass of wine the colour of Kamino’s ocean. Taun We and Lama Su engaged him in small talk about Kamino’s hydrosphere, and whether he had ever visited a water world like theirs before, while a Kaminoan with bright blue eyes served them a round of delicate appetizers.

“What does the Jedi High Council wish to discuss with the clones you’re taking to Coruscant, Master Jinn?” Lama Su asked suddenly. Qui-Gon calmly lifted his wine glass from the table to keep his face natural. Was that suspicion in his voice? _Had they discovered Obi-Wan’s slicing program?_

Before Qui-Gon could answer, Obi-Wan diverted the conversation. He quirked his eyebrows at the elder Jedi. “You’re bringing more passengers with you? That will cost you full fares for each extra person, Master Jinn,” he sniped. Qui-Gon was so impressed with Obi-Wan’s ability to stay in character; he oozed snark and carelessness, in contrast to the many diplomatic meals they had attended during his apprenticeship where Obi-Wan had been quiet, attentive, and polite.

“Forgive me for not informing you sooner, Mister Lars. I will be bringing two clones back with me,” replied Qui-Gon smoothly. “I assure you that you will be paid for the trouble.”

Obi-Wan grunted and sipped at his wineglass. Jango watched Qui-Gon with a flat, unidentifiable expression for a long moment before popping a marinated shrimp into his mouth. The tiniest smile crept across his face, at odds with the cold look of his eyes, and Qui-Gon decided he never wanted to find out what the bounty hunter was thinking at that moment. Lama Su waited patiently at the other end of the table, his question not forgotten. Qui-Gon sighed inwardly. “Oh, nothing terribly interesting. The other Councilors simply wish to inspect them without having to make the journey to Kamino. Some of them are too fragile to travel, while others have extreme demands on their time.”

Lama Su bobbed his head, satisfied with Qui-Gon’s explanation. No further inquiries about the Jedi Council or accusations of espionage interrupted the meal, whose food was as dull as the conversation. The hour dragged. Between the poor sleep he had endured the night before, endless banking transactions, and now a head full of cloyingly sweet wine, Qui-Gon just wished for the second he could make his excuses. It took some effort to cleanse his system of the alcohol. Obi-Wan, bless him, had noticed his fatigue and said abruptly, “If you’ll pardon me, I have a snag in the _Tortoise_ ’s navigational computer that I have to fix before we leave tomorrow. Thank you for the excellent meal.”

“Thank you for joining us, Lars.” Before Obi-Wan could sweep his chair out, Jango raised his hand and rested it on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and kept it there long enough to drag his thumb against the pale expanse of skin. A swirling ball of anger rose in Qui-Gon’s chest. How dare this bounty hunter touch Obi-Wan in such a familiar way? In public?

Obi-Wan’s grey eyes widened in surprise, but he did not pull away. Instead, he laughed and said, “Good night, Jango. It was an unexpected pleasure to see you again.” Obi-Wan rose, nodding to the Kaminoan hosts, and Jango let his hand slide down his spine before laying it on the table. That miniscule smile was back. _I am a Jedi. I cannot remove his body parts with my lightsaber._ He waited for Obi-Wan’s departure, counting to twenty, before making his own excuses and bowing in turn to Taun We and Lama Su. Jango’s mocking smile haunted him all the way to his guest quarters.

The empty white rooms only irritated him further. Nothing in this rounded blank chamber held any distraction. He paced the length of the sitting room, unable to quiet his mind, unable to get the image of Jango Fett’s hand casually brushing the back of Obi-Wan’s neck out of his mind. It had been so intimate, and so taunting. Qui-Gon could not think clearly. Jealousy throbbed in time with his cloned heart. He wanted to be the one to caress Obi-Wan’s neck, to kiss him, to make him moan—to love him.

The realization almost made him trip over his own feet. There it was. He loved Obi-Wan—more so, he was _in_ love with him. It had been so very long since he had felt this way about another, and even then this was like a bonfire to a spark. His copper Knight brightened his days with laughter and wit, making them worth living. He had been a sweet anticipation during the first year of Qui-Gon’s recovery. When he had felt the bond disappear on his birthday, it had felt like his life should have ended, too. And now—now Obi-Wan was _here_ , with him, wanting to be friends and equals and mission partners. He tried to clear his mind and _think_. Had Obi-Wan given any sign that he felt the same way? He had escaped Qui-Gon’s drunken kiss attempt…

The door hissing open interrupted his aimless pacing and racing thoughts. Obi-Wan stepped over the threshold, his eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. “Qui, what—”

Qui-Gon closed the distance between them, grabbing Obi-Wan by the shoulders and pressing him against the curved white wall. He leaned in, brushing his lips along the curve of Obi-Wan’s ear. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since we left Coruscant. May I kiss you, my Obi-Wan?”

He pulled back just enough to see the pink tip of Obi-Wan’s tongue moisten his lips as they thinned out into that feral smile. His eyes were the dark stormy grey of Kamino’s sky. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since I was eighteen. I thought you would never ask.”

Qui-Gon danced his fingers up the side of Obi-Wan’s neck and into the silky strands of his hair. The hollow behind his ear was soft under the pad of Qui-Gon’s thumb. Obi-Wan’s skin felt like fire. As Qui-Gon lowered his head, Obi-Wan tipped up his chin. Their lips met, with Qui-Gon capturing Obi-Wan’s bottom lip between his and holding it still.

An electric thrill raced up his spine, down his arms, all the way to his fingertips. Obi-Wan reached up, laying his hand on Qui-Gon’s cheek like a brand, and snaked his other arm around Qui-Gon’s waist. He pulled Qui-Gon closer, and in response, Qui-Gon deepened the kiss. Obi-Wan whimpered softly into his mouth. His hand fisted into the silk and cotton of Qui-Gon’s tunics. He tasted of the tea on the _Tortoise_ , earthy, with hints of salt. When Obi-Wan dared to lick Qui-Gon’s bottom lip, it was too much sensation. Qui-Gon broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. His heart hammered in his chest; Obi-Wan was a touch breathless. “Not that I’m complaining, but what spurred this on?” he murmured. His fingers were tracing the shell of Qui-Gon’s ear, a delightful tickle.

Qui-Gon huffed a small laugh. “I stopped being so damned oblivious, thanks to Jango Fett.”

“I’m eternally indebted to a bounty hunter?” teased Obi-Wan, pretending to be offended. “I thought I was being less than subtle.”

Qui-Gon stole a kiss, gentle and slow. “I thought you weren’t interested after that broken teacup gave you an escape route.”

Obi-Wan cupped the back of Qui-Gon’s neck, careful to avoid tugging his long, unbound hair. He smiled lopsidedly. Qui-Gon idly wondered if that smile was better than the wolfish grin. “That was me. I didn’t want our first kiss to be fuelled by alcohol, no matter how expensive. This is much better, and I intend on remembering this until my dying day, although there is entirely too much talking.” Obi-Wan nudged Qui-Gon’s head down to him and silenced everything but the taut hum of desire coursing through Qui-Gon’s veins. He had just discovered the lovely warmth of Obi-Wan’s clever hands on the skin of his spine when an insistent chime interrupted them.

Obi-Wan fumbled for his comm, desperately trying to keep his lips on Qui-Gon’s. The sudden absence of his hands left Qui-Gon’s back cold. With a violent stab of his finger, Obi-Wan cut off the audio warning. Eventually, he had to draw away to scan the comm message with an expression of deep regret. “My slicing program finally finished with the mainframe. We should be able to download all transmissions, both recent and archived, to and from Kamino. If we’re lucky, I’ll be able to grab remnant data from deleted comm logs, too. I have to physically initiate the download to the ship’s backup computer.”

Qui-Gon nuzzled Obi-Wan’s neck, which earned him a tiny whine and a stutter of Obi-Wan’s hips against his. He would have to remember that one for later use. “You’d better go, then.”

Obi-Wan ran a finger along the barest inside edge of Qui-Gon’s trousers. Qui-Gon jumped a little, his heart thumping wildly. “Get packing. It’s a long trip back to your quarters in the Temple, and the bunks on the _Tortoise_ are barely big enough for one,” Obi-Wan said, his voice rough. Qui-Gon gaped at this unexpected forwardness, and Obi-Wan laughed softly. He kissed the back of Qui-Gon’s hand as if the Jedi Knight was the finest courtier. “The ship’s computer isn’t exactly speedy, and the data transfers need to be done manually. I need to keep up the appearance that I’m fixing the ship, so I’ll see you in the morning, Qui.”

He walked backwards through the doors, not wanting to break eye contact. His lips were red and swollen, his hair mussed. A thoroughly kissed Obi-Wan was an image Qui-Gon filed away in his mind to keep forever. As soon as the doors closed, he took a few deep breaths to fight the rising giddiness within him and released most of his excitement to the Force. He still had work to do. Qui-Gon strode to his computer and composed a message to Mace Windu about their imminent return to Coruscant, as well as a polite note to Taun We informing her of his departure at 0400. If Obi-Wan Kenobi was going to be waiting for him in his bed at the end of this voyage, he refused to stay on this rainy ball of water a moment longer than he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A loud shout-out to my amazing beta, Aryax, for her cheerleading and leading questions!
> 
> I now await your screaming. *evil grinning*


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan return to Coruscant with the clones.

As the _Tortoise_ made the jump to hyperspace, Qui-Gon let out a breath he had been holding. Obi-Wan slid his hand off the throttle and shot him a concerned look. “What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s as if I expected something to happen as we were leaving Kamino, but it didn’t,” replied Qui-Gon with a shrug. “Did the data transfer go as planned?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “It’s all there. I don’t know if there’s anything useful, though. Tahl would be able to sort it out. She’s better at data sifting than I am.”

“I think she will be in-Temple by the time we return.”

“We’re going to have to tell her what this is all about,” Obi-Wan said. Before Qui-Gon could reply, he continued, “You know her. If we don’t explain it in detail, she will pry and wheedle her way into this, and we can’t afford to have her ask the wrong question of the wrong person.”

“You have a point.” Qui-Gon stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That would bring the circle of people in the know to four.”

“It’s not enough,” stated Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon glanced at him in surprise.

“The more people who know the identity of the Sith is a risk to all of us,” Qui-Gon retorted.

“We can’t defeat him alone, Qui. I think we need to bring those who we can trust into the fold. He’s already in a position of vast power over us, and we are playing catch up.” Obi-Wan leaned back in the pilot’s chair, crossed one arm over his chest, and rested his chin in his other hand. “Master Windu showed you his vision because he needed perspective. You told me because I had already figured it out. Who else can we trust to look at our admittedly extremely circumstantial evidence and make that kind of leap? Master Yoda, certainly.”

“I worry that he will try to handle the Sith on his own the moment our backs are turned,” said Qui-Gon softly as he gazed out the viewscreen. “But if we keep our eyes on him, he will help us. Tahl. Depa, for all that Mace wants to keep her out of this. Plo Koon. Adi. Not Saesee Tiin, because I don’t know how he will react to learning his telepathy did not uncover the Sith’s identity. He may refute us. Ki-Adi-Mundi was not receptive to the idea of the Sith returning back on Naboo, and I doubt his position has changed given we have no further evidence of the Sith’s continued existence. Maybe Even Piell.”

Obi-Wan inhaled as if preparing to speak, but seemed to change his mind and stayed silent. Qui-Gon lifted a querying eyebrow. Obi-Wan grimaced. “What about Master Dooku?”

Raising his hand and dropping it back in his lap, a gesture of uncertainty, Qui-Gon sighed. “I don’t know, Obi-Wan. I trust my Master, but I also don’t know how he will react to the possibility of Darth Tyrannus. He’s come so far, done so much to stay with the light and the Order. I can’t take that away from him.”

“Don’t tell him, then,” Obi-Wan suggested gently. “We can reveal the identity of the Sith without rehashing the entirety of Master Windu’s vision. All of us suffered terrible fates, and we are attempting to prevent it. That’s all anyone really needs to know. If you trust my grand-Master to stand with us, then I’ll support you both. I think he's stronger than you give him credit for, sometimes.”

Qui-Gon smiled at him. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. I never knew you thought so kindly of Dooku. You were always so formal with him.”

To his surprise, Obi-Wan barked a laugh. “I suppose I can tell you why, now. Dooku figured out that I was … interested in you. I think he was reminded of Komari, and he didn’t want the same thing to happen to us, so he was more stern and strict that he normally would be. You know, to let me know he was watching. I, in turn, tried to be the most formal and proper Padawan he had ever laid eyes on as reassurance that I wouldn’t do anything that would interfere with my apprenticeship. He knew that I knew, and the ritual stuck. I admit, I’m glad he wasn’t around much. No Padawan can be that good all the time without suffering mental health issues.”

Qui-Gon gaped at him. “Are you serious? Why is he suddenly treating you like his favourite grand-Padawan?”

That slow, feral smile spread across Obi-Wan’s features. “Because I’m not your apprentice anymore, Qui,” he purred. “And I _am_ his favourite grand-Padawan. I used to send him flimsi notebooks on his birthday to butter him up.”

“You devious brat,” laughed Qui-Gon. “The two of you deserve each other.”

Obi-Wan’s grin widened as he draped his hand across the console and wiggled his fingers. Qui-Gon took the invitation and interlaced their fingers; the Knight’s hand was pleasantly warm against the chill of space. “Back to conspiracy, though. You told me that Master Windu was afraid of the Temple’s systems being infiltrated?”

Qui-Gon nodded sharply but did not let go of Obi-Wan’s hand. “Security feeds, comms, who knows? He won’t even say the Sith’s name out loud. I don’t know where we are going to have a secret meeting if he won’t let us discuss it anywhere on Coruscant.”

“Why not have it here?” Obi-Wan gestured around them. “We screened the _Tortoise_ for bugs and malicious code after every stop on our Sith-finding expedition. I did it before we left Kamino, out of habit. If Master Windu is really that paranoid, and I think he has every right to be, we can even take the ship into orbit.”

“We have to bring the clones before the Council. There’s no way to get around that. Then we can sneak everyone into the ship.” He squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand once, then reluctantly let it go.

“Everyone will have to bring their own folding chair, though,” chuckled Obi-Wan. “I’ll have to rearrange the cargo bay. Maybe the clones will help me if I ask nicely.” He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Twenty thousand clone soldiers, Qui-Gon. What are we going to do with them?”

Qui-Gon’s face hardened. “We protect them. At all costs. For all that they were cloned to come into this world, they are individuals. They have no one but us to advocate for them.” He rose, careful to keep his head from bumping against the low ceiling of the cockpit. “I’m going to go talk to them.”

*

The clones had their heads together and were speaking softly in what Qui-Gon thought was Mando’a as he entered the tiny galley. Rex caught the Jedi’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and both men jostled to attention. Their armour clattered against the metal table. “Sir!” they barked.

Qui-Gon motioned for them to sit. “Please, as you were.” Warily, the clones eased themselves back down onto the bench, watching Qui-Gon with hawkish eyes. “I wish to speak with you, if it is not inconvenient.”

“Of course, sir,” replied Rex. Cody said nothing, but gave off the aura of waiting expectantly for orders.

“Would either of you like a cup of tea?” he offered as he puttered in the tiny kitchen, pulling out the battered mugs and tea canister.

The clones were silent for a moment. Qui-Gon glanced over his shoulder, and to his surprise, Cody nodded. “I’ve never had tea,” he said stiffly, “but I’ll try it.”

“And you, Rex?”

“Er … all right.” He seemed to not want to be outdone by his companion. When Qui-Gon slid a steaming mug of dark liquid in front of each man, Cody grabbed the handle and brought it half-way to his mouth before Qui-Gon noticed and yelped in warning, “It’s hot!”

Cody carefully set it back down as if the mug held a viper. Rex sat perfectly still, keeping his hands in his lap. So sudden, loud sounds did not rattle them. Good to know. Qui-Gon held up his free hand apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Just let the cup sit for a few minutes. If you try to drink it now, you’ll sear every tastebud on your tongue and your throat, besides.”

“Yes, sir,” said Cody.

“You can call me Qui-Gon,” offered the Jedi Master. Cody shook his head.

“That would be inappropriate, sir. You are our superior officer.”

Qui-Gon tapped his finger against his lips. “I could order you to call me Qui-Gon, but I’d rather not have to,” he said with a small smile.

The clones exchanged an unreadable look. “Very well, ah, Master Qui-Gon. What did you wish to discuss?” The tea in front of Rex remained untouched as he levelled his gaze on Qui-Gon.

“I was curious as to your plans in life,” he said casually as he took a sip of his tea. It was still too hot, and the scald on the tip of his tongue would be reminding him for the next few days.

Rex narrowed his eyes. Confusion danced over his amber features. “We are soldiers bred for the use of the Galactic Republic. We will give our lives for its defence,” he said as if by rote.

“And what if the Republic has no use for soldiers? We have not had a standing military for a thousand years.”

Cody grimaced. “If the Republic has no use for us, then why go to the trouble of creating us in the first place?” he snapped. Qui-Gon could feel the sudden anger in the clone. He did not dare tell them about the Sith’s hand in their existence; he did not know how far he could trust them yet. The Force was whispering to him in that moment, telling him of the things he needed to say.

“I don’t know, Cody. I’m going to find out, though. My first order of business is to ensure that the Republic acknowledges you as persons under the law.”

“We’re not persons, we are clone soldiers,” Rex retorted.

“But you are people, Rex, not slaves, and you require the protections that the designation of ‘person’ brings.”

Rex grunted. “Why would we need that?” he asked, as though the response was automatic. He grimaced, shaking his head slightly. To Qui-Gon, it seemed as though he was trying to brush aside his first, conditioned thought, in favour of his second thought. Rex leaned forward, his voice hushed. “What’s slaves?”

“Slavery is to take away the freedom of a person. It is to own another as property, to do with as the owner wishes,” replied Qui-Gon, disgust tinging his words.

The clones were silent at this, exchanging unreadable looks. Cody glared at his tea before taking a sip. “That sounds like us,” he growled.

Qui-Gon placed his hands palm-down on the table, his face serious. “The Jedi Order has the responsibility to protect you, Cody, and all the clones back on Kamino. If it is the last thing I do, I will ensure your freedom to choose your own path. You are not slaves, you are not property, you are not flesh-and-blood droids, and you are beholden to no one. In the Republic, all sentient beings have rights, and every Jedi has sworn to uphold those rights. I swear to you both now that I will keep that oath in regards to every one of your clone brethren.”

Stunned was the only word Qui-Gon could have used to describe the clones at that moment. Their faces may have been identical, but their expressions were not; Rex’s eyes were wide, while Cody’s mouth hung partly open. The former was the first to recover from the shock of this revelation. “Exactly what kind of rights,” the word was a bit awkward on his tongue, “do we have?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I can get you a copy of the Galactic Constitution, but in short? Equality under the law. Self-determination. Free speech. Freedom from slavery. Protection from undue hardship. Suffrage.” At Cody’s querying eyebrow, he explained, “Voting. You have the right to vote for your political representative.”

“Who would be our political representative? Kamino isn’t a member of the Republic,” said Cody, leaning slightly towards Qui-Gon with interest.

Qui-Gon smiled, inwardly delighted that the two men were engaging with the topic. The evidence that they were able to overcome their so-called programming was encouraging. “Two excellent questions. As to the first, political representation ensures you have the power to advocate for your needs. The Kaminoans clearly did not give you citizenship on their world, so you’re technically stateless. The Jedi do not hold a seat in the Senate, so we could not represent you politically, but there are provisions for nomadic groups who do not call a single planet home to have a seat. The clones of Kamino would certainly fall under this banner.”

The two men fell silent at that, both studiously staring into their teacups as if they could find answers at the bottom. The steam rising from the hot liquid swirled around them in hypnotic, sinuous lines. Finally, Rex said quietly, “Why are you telling us this?”

“Because every single one of you is a person, Rex. You may wear the same face, but you are not the same in here.” Qui-Gon put his hand over his heart. “In the Force, you all feel different, but you’re linked, like a family.”

“ _Vode_ ,” Cody whispered. “Brothers, Master Qui-Gon. We are all brothers.” Rex nodded in a tiny, sharp jerk, then reached for his cup and took a tentative sip.

*

It had been years since Qui-Gon Jinn stood in the middle of the High Council chambers with Mace Windu glaring daggers at him. He found that he had rather missed it, but did his best to smother the smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth. To his left, Rex and Cody stood perfectly at ease, eyes forward and moving not a single muscle between them. Obi-Wan remained quietly at his right, the Padawan’s pace behind Qui-Gon no longer required, and returned the Councilors’ stares with a neutral expression.

Yoda was surveying the clones. His ears twitched in consternation. “Brought us trouble again, you have, Qui-Gon,” he finally announced with an irritated tap of his gimer stick on the floor.

“I thought I was very clear, Master Yoda. I will not stand by and have the clones of Kamino be exploited and used by anyone. I could not leave them there. They deserve the chance to speak for themselves,” replied Qui-Gon.

“I still can’t believe that Master Sifo-Dyas would do something like this,” complained Ki-Adi-Mundi. “Master Dooku, you and he were close. Surely this was not him.”

An ashen-faced Dooku had said nothing after the first mention of his old friend’s probable compulsion into ordering a clone army. His gaze, unfocussed, snapped up to the proceedings at the sound of his name. “Sif said he there was something important he had to do, but wouldn’t tell me what it was. That was the last time we spoke,” he said, his voice thick.

“I don’t think anyone is blaming Master Sifo-Dyas,” Adi Gallia told him gently. “But if he was compelled, which is what logic is currently suggesting, I think we all know who is to blame.” Her eyes slid to the clones as the word _Sith_ went unsaid. “And that may be a discussion for a later hour.”

“Blame aside, what are we going to do with twenty thousand clone soldiers?” Depa burst out.

“Perhaps we should ask them what they want,” Qui-Gon replied mildly. “Rex? Would you like to speak for your brothers on Kamino?”

The blond clone came to attention with a smart rap of his boot on the tiled floor and clicks of his white armour. “Yes, Master Qui-Gon. Thank you. I—”

Before Rex could say anything further, the discreet entrance door between the Council room and the small office where the Council secretary kept her desk swished open. The Bothan Jedi, newly appointed, rushed in; the hackles on the back of her neck were rippling. Qui-Gon could not for the life of him remember her name. “I’m so sorry for interrupting, Masters—”

“We’re in the middle of a meeting, Tylka,” Mace snapped. The Bothan, to her credit, stood her ground.

“I know, Master Windu,” she said, her timid voice strengthening with every word. “But there is something going on that you all should see.” Tylka pulled out a control pad and tapped it until the lights dimmed. Qui-Gon shuffled back to allow room for the holographic projection as it flickered into existence.

 “—demand answers from the Jedi Order! They have no authority to raise an army, and the implications that the Jedi require an army is deeply troubling.” Orn Free Taa, the bulky Senator from Ryloth, had the floor. He kept hitting his fist on his other hand to make his points. “I demand that the Senate call an inquiry into this matter, and that the clones are seized as evidence of seditious intent!”

Qui-Gon heard someone gasp. He flicked his gaze to Mace, whose expression now resembled a thundercloud. A new voice interrupted Taa, and Qui-Gon watched as Bail Organa of Alderaan swooped down into the fray. “Alderaan resents the accusation that the Jedi Order has committed acts of sedition and demands the Senator of Ryloth yield this offensive and unevidenced allegation. There is no evidence of wrongdoing by the Jedi Order.”

Protests exploded throughout the Senate like a rumble of bees. The broadcasting holocamera panned up to the Chancellor’s box, where Palpatine and the Chagrian Vice-Chair Mas Amedda had their heads together, whispering away from the microphones. Amedda finally straightened and boomed, “Order! I will have order! Senator Organa, will you agree to an inquiry into the complaint brought forward by Senator Taa?”

Bail’s mouth was set into a harsh line, but he nodded sharply. “I will, on the condition that Alderaan sits as a representative on a three-person board of inquiry.”

“You have already shown us that you support the Jedi!” Taa roared indignantly.

“And the Senator from Ryloth brought the complaint against the Jedi. I am merely demonstrating the Republic’s judicial value of presumed innocence,” Bail retorted. “Without following judicial procedures, any inquiry is suspect and betrays the ideals of the Galactic Republic.”

A young female voice interjected the moment Bail finished his sentence. “Naboo seconds the inquiry with Alderaan as a representative.” Qui-Gon knew that voice, and he knew that face, even without all the ceremonial makeup that she wore as the Queen of Naboo. Padmé Amidala filled the holoprojection, looking as determined and as regal as ever. The ostentatious costumes she had worn when they met had been toned down, but her hair was plaited in a fanciful gold net that matched the filigreed shoulders of her robes. He had not realized she had been elected as the Senator for the Chommell Sector; he tried to remember when she had become a Senator in Mace’s vision, but he could not quite place the date. At the surprise widening Mace’s eyes, he had not been expecting her.

“Naboo seconds the creation of an inquiry panel investigating the allegations that the Jedi Order created a clone army,” Amedda announced. “Senators, please indicate your vote now.”

The High Council chamber could have been on fire and not a single person would have moved a muscle as they waited the results. The projection of Amedda nodded to himself. “The motion passes. Alderaan will chair an inquiry board, with the two other members chosen from the Senate pool at random. The Senate will call the Head of the Order to appear within the week.”

Mace viciously stabbed his finger against the controls on the arms of his chair. The holoprojection winked out and the lights returned to their normal levels. Tylka took the opportunity to flee back into her office. “Knight Kenobi, would you please escort our guests to the medical wing for a standard physical, then have the quartermaster find them accommodations?” he asked. The tightness in his words was a red flag that he would need to channel his anger into the _vapaad_ , and soon.

Obi-Wan bowed to the Council and gestured towards the door. “This way, please,” he murmured to the clones, who both snapped to attention, saluted, and stamped an about-face before following him out.

Once the door had closed behind them, the chamber exploded into a cacophony of noise. Qui-Gon fought the urge to slap his hands over his ears to make it stop until Mace snapped over the din, “Silence!” Heads swivelled to the Head of the Order as the High Council broke off their protests. “These allegations are both serious and disturbing, but we all know that they are false. What is more concerning is how fast this is moving. How did Orn Free Taa find out about the clones? They’ve only been on Coruscant for about an hour, and Qui-Gon made no transmissions indicating their existence from Kamino or from the _Tortoise_.”

“Someone on Kamino must be passing information to someone in the Senate,” Qui-Gon hedged, not wanting to mention the Sith just yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Plo Koon nod. “Obi-Wan was able to download their communications records. I would suggest we let Master Tahl go through it. She reads code faster than anyone else in the Temple.”

“Just returned from the Agri-Corps on Daver Kuat, Master Tahl has,” Yoda replied. “Ask her to review the files immediately, we will.”

“May I make a suggestion, Masters?” The politeness of Qui-Gon’s request earned him the full attention of his peers. He filed that away for future reference. “We are being accused of creating an army for the purpose of sedition. I suggest we use our finely honed skills of diplomacy to refute that accusation.”

“In what way?” Depa furrowed her brow.

“We petition the Senate for the clones’ entry into the Republic as a nomadic clan,” he replied.

Even Piell frowned. “A new member to the Senate requires another world to sponsor them.”

“Not if they’re nomadic or dwell exclusively on spacefaring craft,” retorted Qui-Gon. “I’ve negotiated the entry of twelve members to the Republic, and two of them were nomadic clans. The clones are currently stateless, because the Kaminoans consider them product, not people. They do not hold any kind of Kaminoan citizenship.” Adi Gallia made a disgusted noise, and he inclined his head at her. “I agree with that sentiment whole-heartedly, Master Gallia. And for all they have been raised Mandalorian, there is no way Duchess Kryze will accept a trained military force on her planet. The clones need the protection that Republic citizenship grants them. If we broker their citizenship, we can demonstrate that we are acting in good faith towards both the clones and the Republic. It shores up our argument that we had no idea what Master Sifo-Dyas was doing, and that we put a stop to it as soon as we discovered it.”

Piell scratched his chin and said tentatively, “Ah, Qui-Gon, I think perhaps in your zeal to assist the clones of Kamino, you have forgotten something very important.” He spread his small hands apologetically at Qui-Gon’s raised eyebrows. “Clones cannot be made citizens of the Republic. It’s in the Constitution, and the majority of worlds don’t allow clones on their soil.”

“No, only individual clones cannot become citizens. Societies like the Khomm who reproduce through cloning can join the Republic,” retorted Qui-Gon, jutting his chin out in defiance.

“So you’re going to argue to the Galactic Senate that twenty thousand clones of the same person bred specifically as an army is a nomadic society?” Ki-Adi-Mundi said incredulously.

“Watch me.” He folded his arms over his chest, ignoring the twinge of pain.

“And here I thought the days of Qui-Gon Jinn wreaking havoc on the galaxy were over,” said Mace to a handful of smothered titters. Qui-Gon just shrugged. “Very well, Qui-Gon. If there are no objections to sponsoring the clones as members of the Republic?” Mace asked, glancing around the room with eyes challenging anyone to speak. No one protested, thank the Force, and Qui-Gon saw a few of his colleagues shake their heads vehemently. “Good. Qui-Gon, since you brought this idea, I nominate you to assist the clones in presenting their petition. All in favour?”

Twelve hands raised into the air all around him, and Qui-Gon nodded his head in acquiescence. “Motion passes,” Mace announced.

A gentlest whisper, a tiny nudge from the Force, caught his attention, and he listened. “Masters, I would ask you all to meet me on the _Tortoise_ at landing pad six at your earliest convenience. I have some important information to impart, and I am loath to say anything further.”

Furrowed brows and exchanges of confused looks met his announcement. Mace gave him a lifted eyebrow that clearly meant _what the kriff are you doing?_ Yoda, on the other hand, tapped his stick on the floor. “Important, this must be, for us to meet elsewhere. Ask us to do this, you would not, otherwise,” he declared, though his squint was suspicious. “Meet you tomorrow morning, we will, Qui-Gon, and then for this inquiry, we will prepare.”

*

Tahl’s quarters were soothing and familiar, which was exactly what Qui-Gon needed after that Council meeting. She had not moved a single piece of furniture in the ten years before she was blinded, and had kept everything where it was for her own ease afterwards. The worn, bland couch still had cushions that sank into the comfortably broken springs when Qui-Gon sat down next to the Noorian with a mug of tea in his hands. Tahl’s cup of caff on the table in front of them overpowered the scent of the delicate green tea she kept around for his use. She unerringly picked up her mug and turned to face him. “So what is it I’m looking for?” she asked as she sipped her black beverage.

“Any communication between Kamino and Coruscant, and more specifically coming to or from the Senate district,” replied Qui-Gon, handing her the custom data pad Tahl used to read. She set down her cup and activated the tactile interface. “Are you sure that thing is secure?”

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Yes, Qui-Gon. It’s not hooked up to the Holonet or the Temple net. I’d have to hardwire it into my console to get net access, and everything on it is automatically encrypted with a program I devised. Once this data pad is locked, the data on it may as well not exist.” Her fingers ran along the interface of the pad, which raised dots that represented the Aurebesh alphabet. “I’m going to set my search program on these comm logs, and you’re going to help me go through the results.”

His dream of holing up in his room with Obi-Wan for the foreseeable future was quickly fizzling with every passing minute. Duty came before all, as was appropriate, but it did not mean he had to be happy about it. He swallowed his sigh. “Of course,” he said, forcing his voice to sound light. “What was on Daver Kuat?”

Her gaze was unfocused as the tips of her fingers flew over the interface. “Hmm? Oh, I was just picking up my new Padawan from the Agri-Corps.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My new Padawan. She aged out while I was on my last mission, so I didn’t get the chance to claim her before she was shipped off to the Agri-Corps. So I went and fetched her. I have a hearing with the High Council the day after tomorrow about it,” she told him, as casually as though they were discussing the weather.

“Tahl,” Qui-Gon said carefully, “they won’t let you take a Padawan who has aged out.”

At this, she turned her head towards him and glared with those formidable green and yellow eyes. “Qui-Gon Jinn, you should be more understanding than anyone else about how a thirteenth birthday doesn’t magically make a child less worthy of being chosen as a Padawan. It’s a ridiculous cut-off, to tell children in the beginning throes of puberty that they are or aren’t fit for life as a Jedi. We take them from their families, raise them, then toss them out if no one claims them at a major turning point of their lives? It’s ridiculous, and you know it. I expect you to support me on this, because what’s the point of having your best friend on the High Council otherwise?”

“I agree with you, Tahl, completely. The rule is arbitrary, and frankly, cruel. I just don’t want you to be surprised when the rest of them try to fight you. I will support you. Appeal to Mace. He can’t argue for traditional Padawan rules when his joined us when he was nine.” Her lips quirked at that. “Who’s the lucky Initiate?”

A real smile brightened her face. He could feel a rush of happiness from her in the Force. “A tiny little bookworm Amaran named Kyarri. I think she could be the Chief Librarian one day.”

“Congratulations, my friend. I look forward to meeting her,” he replied as he slung an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to his side. She leaned into him for a moment, then straightened. While he had heard nothing, something had garnered her attention. “What is it?”

“The search program’s found something.” Her fingers flew over the raised interface as she read. “Nothing’s ever truly deleted,” she murmured. “There. A transmitted message from Kamino to Coruscant, recipient data unknown. ‘The inhibitor chips have been programmed with the specified subroutines.’” She glanced at Qui-Gon. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I think that means I have to go see our clone guests in the medical ward. Keep going through the comm data. If the Kaminoans were as careless with the rest of their communications, then we may finally be in luck.” Before he could heave himself out of the depths of Tahl’s couch, his pocket beeped. He pulled out his comm. “Yes?”

Obi-Wan’s tinny voice filled his ears. “It’s me. I was, ah, wondering if you were coming home tonight.”

That little hint of longing mixed with the slight hesitation was enough; Qui-Gon swallowed hard and tried to calm his arousal. He cleared his throat. “Tahl found something. I have to talk to the clones. I don’t know how long it will take.”

A heartbeat of silence, then, “Okay, Qui. I think I’ll ask Master Dooku for a spar. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, you will,” replied Qui-Gon before thumbing off his comm and jamming it back into his pocket. He felt Tahl’s eyes boring into the back of his head. “What?” he asked flatly.

“Turn around. I’m not talking to your ass,” she ordered. With a sigh, he complied. “Much better. ‘Home?’” The insinuation in her voice was unmistakable. “Qui-Gon Jinn, did you finally notice that your former apprentice is a handsome young man holding vast interest in you?”

“This was not a conversation I want to have right now,” he ground out. “Let me know if you find anything else.”

The cheering laughter of his best friend followed him out into the corridor as he made his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to my lovely beta Aryax for helping me fine-tune this chapter. Writer's block struck me on this for a while, but I hope Tahl makes up for it! Happy Friday, dear readers!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clones, spars, and secret meetings

The Halls of Healing were hushed at this evening hour when Qui-Gon ducked in. The main corridor was completely empty, leaving him unable to pull someone aside and ask for the clones’ whereabouts. He closed his eyes and stretched out with the Force. He could feel pain and suffering here, a fleeting undercurrent. There were five Jedi on the floor tonight, and he could have pointed to each bright point in turn. The clones … they were in the examination room to his left, radiating boredom and nervousness. Qui-Gon opened his eyes and pressed the door chime. “Good evening, Abella,” he greeted his Healer as she poked her head out the door. “May I speak to you?”

The Chitanook huffed in surprise. “Qui-Gon! I’m just finishing up an exam.”

“I realize that. I actually need to talk to you and our guests. Please?”

Abella nodded and stepped aside to allow him entry. Rex and Cody caught sight of him and started to stand to attention, but he waved them to sit back down on the examination bed. Awkwardly, they sank back down. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but something has come to our attention.”

“What is it, sir? I mean, Master Qui-Gon?” Rex asked, a furrow appearing on his forehead.

“Do you know anything about an inhibitor chip being part of the clones’ physiology?” Qui-Gon asked.

The confusion in both men’s dark eyes was genuine. “I’ve never heard of an inhibitor chip,” Cody replied. “What is it?”

Abella made a low growling noise in the back of her throat before answering. “It’s a piece of technology that can compel instant and unquestioning obedience in a sentient being. It’s a disgusting bit of work that is illegal to manufacture or implant within Republic borders.”

“Do you think there’s one of these chips in us?” Rex asked quietly. The calmness of his voice was at war with the horror he was projecting into the Force.

“There’s evidence to suggest that the clones have been implanted with inhibitor chips, yes,” Qui-Gon replied, “but I’m certain our Healer Abella here will be able to remove them.”

Abella, however, was already shaking her head. “I can remove them, certainly, but I have to find them first. I’ve done a complete body scan on both of these gentlemen already, and nothing came up. There are no implants of any kind in their bodies.”

“Abella, I suspect that these chips have been designed to be indetectable with technology.”

The Healer nodded, muttering under her breath in the growls and purrs of her own language, which earned her widened eyes from both clones. “I have an idea. Cody, do you mind if I look for this chip? It won’t hurt, and all I have to do is put my hands on your head.”

Cody exchanged an unreadable glance with his brother, who nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead, Healer Abella.”

She offered him a reassuring smile as she raised her hands and placed them on his temples. With her eyes closed, she sank into a trance in the space of a few heartbeats. Qui-Gon could feel the tendrils of the Force she wound through Cody’s brain. A moment passed before she snapped her eyes open and lowered her hands. “I found it. It’s there.”

Stalwart Cody’s mouth twisted into a moue of disgust and no little terror. He said nothing, but Rex put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Check me, too.”

Abella did as he asked, and nodded grimly. “It’s in your brain, too.”

Cody, eyes blazing with anger, finally spoke. “Take them out, Healer. Now.”

Abella’s expression was as fierce as the warrior in front of her as she nodded. “Let’s get you prepped for surgery.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Qui-Gon. “You stay right there. You neglected your post-mission medical.”

With a sigh, Qui-Gon did his best to not roll his eyes as Abella left the room to find a surgical team. He sank down in the empty chair next to the examination bed under the hawk-like gazes of Rex and Cody.

The blond man spoke first. “We know how to follow orders. Why would they put inhibitor chips in our brains?” he asked softly.

“I’m not certain, Rex,” replied the Jedi Master, “but I strongly suspect it was not done in good faith or for the benefit of your brothers.”

“To compel obedience,” Cody interjected bitterly. “They want soldiers who do nothing but obey, not brothers who think and have feelings. We’re just droids made flesh.”

“Not here,” Qui-Gon told him. “Here, you are Cody, and you are Rex. You are not numbers, and you are not machines.”

Neither clone said another word until a sleepy apprentice came to escort them to the surgical bay. Rex tentatively put his hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “Thank you, Master Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon patted Rex’s hand and hoped it gave the man some small comfort. “I will do my best for you all,” he said quietly. “May the Force be with you.”

As the Healer apprentice led the men out into the corridor, Abella squeezed past them and back into the examination room. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what this is all about?” she grouched as she pulled open a drawer and drew out her stethescope and a bioscanner.

“I can’t, Abella. I’m sorry. Will you let me know how the surgery goes?” He did his best to hold perfectly still as she ran the scanner over him.

“Of course.” She growled low in her throat before starting the standard series of questions. “Did you eat or drink anything on planet?”

“Yes.” Her fingertip pressed another button on the scanner in response.

“Were you injured in anyway? Did you have any bleeding or loss of consciousness?”

“No.” More buttons beeped as she pushed them. She put the scanner down on the examination bed and knelt down in front of him. “I need to listen to your heart, please.”

As she put her stethoscope into her ears, Qui-Gon rearranged the silk and cotton fabric of his tunics until the cool air hit his bare skin. For the hundredth time he wondered if he should switch to wearing something simpler. She rubbed the bottom of her instrument on her palm to warm it, then placed it over his heart. A small smile quirked the edges of her lips. “Perfect,” she told him. “One more thing, Master. Did you engage in any sexual activity while you were away?”

It had been so long since he had been on a mission that he had actually forgotten that question came up during medicals. He could feel heat spread across his cheeks, and he fought to contain his sudden blush by focussing entirely too hard on settling his tunics. “Uh, no?” He managed to make his voice not squeak. _You are a kriffing Jedi Master. You are an adult, Jinn!_ “But, ah, I know we never discussed it before, but am I, ah, medically cleared for that kind of thing?”

Abella, bless her furry heart, was a consummate professional. She turned her back to him and returned her stethoscope to the drawer, giving him a moment to compose himself. “You have no medical restrictions, but I would strongly advise you to listen to your body. Discomfort is your signal to slow down and reconsider what you’re doing, and pain is your signal to _stop_. Be aware of your heart rate, as always; if it doesn’t return to normal after ten minutes, come see me immediately. Be honest with yourself and with your partner. So, as your Healer,” she said, finally turning back to him with a sharp-toothed grin, “you’ve passed your post-mission medical. Be safe and have fun, Master Jinn.”

*

The jittery feeling he always had post-space travel did not allow him to sit and wait for the clones to leave the surgical bay. Qui-Gon found himself heading for the sparring rooms, and was not disappointed when he found a gathered crowd at the transparisteel window of the largest room. A mixed group of Knights and Masters stood at the edges, while tiny Initiates knelt or sat cross-legged, their noses practically touching the window. A handful of Padawans whispered amongst themselves behind the Initiates.

As Qui-Gon approached the enthralled audience, he caught a glimpse of who they were watching: Obi-Wan and Dooku, their lightsabers moving so fast that he could barely keep up with what was clearly an open spar. They pushed each other from one side of the room to the other, meeting every parry and thrust perfectly. He could see beads of sweat on each of their foreheads. Obi-Wan leapt out of the way of a jab, then said something that made Dooku openly laugh before swinging low at the elder Jedi’s knees.

A tug at Qui-Gon’s hand caught his attention. “Hi, Master Qui-Gon,” whispered Ahsoka Tano with a grin. He returned her smile and squeezed her hand. The little girl squeezed back and did not let go. Apprently his meddling had made him a young friend, and he found himself happy at the thought. No doubt Obi-Wan would make a joke about him collecting strays again.

“Hello, Ahsoka. How long have they been sparring?”

“Half an hour, I think. They’re really good.” The Togrutan’s wide blue eyes were shining with excitement.

Qui-Gon nodded, turning his gaze back to the fight. “Yes, they are. Master Dooku is considered the one of the best duellists in the Order. Knight Kenobi was my Padawan.”

“And I heard someone say that Knight Kenobi killed a _Sith_ ,” Ahsoka said, her voice hushed with awe. “Is that true?”

“Yes, it’s true, little one.” Dooku’s yellowish-green lightsaber met Obi-Wan’s blue over and over again.

Ahsoka wrinkled her nose. “I’m not so little anymore, Master,” she retorted, and two initiates turned around and shushed her.

“When you’re as tall as I am, everyone’s little,” he whispered back, grinning. Dooku feinted, and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber flew out of his hand and into Dooku’s palm. Obi-Wan held up his arms, laughing as he surrendered. The cluster of Initiates cheered loudly, whooping and banging on the window. Both men whipped their heads around in the realization that they had an audience. Dooku actually smiled. They bowed to each other, then bowed to their adoring fans. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, Dooku handed back his grand-Padawan’s lightsaber and clapped him on the back. Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon’s eye and waggled his fingers at him.

Ahsoka refused to let go of Qui-Gon’s hand, so they waited patiently for the crowd to disperse before Qui-Gon led the girl to the sparring room door. Dooku met them first with a sharp nod. “You didn’t do half bad with that one, Padawan,” he noted before hooking his curved lightsaber back onto his belt. Exhaustion tightened his eyes and mouth. “Good night.” He did not wait for an answer before heading towards his quarters.

In the doorway, Obi-Wan had a small towel hanging around his neck and laughter in his eyes. The strap of his travelling bag from the _Tortoise_ was looped over his shoulder. “That damned old man stole my lightsaber!” he protested.

“You shouldn’t say ‘damned,’” Ahsoka told him. Qui-Gon bit back his own laugh as Obi-Wan stared at the girl in disbelief.

“Um, yes, I suppose I shouldn’t. Sorry.”

“If anything, he’s a bloody old man,” she continued.

“Ahsoka!” Qui-Gon admonished, and the girl had the decency to look abashed. Obi-Wan looked slightly gobsmacked. “Master Dooku is indeed a damned, bloody old man, but you don’t get to say that until you’re a High Councilor.”

Ahsoka giggled. “Yes, Master Qui-Gon.” She turned her attention back to Obi-Wan and stuck out her free hand. “Hi, I’m Ahsoka Tano!”

Obi-Wan took her hand and shook it. For a split-second, an odd look crossed his features, but he covered it with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Ahsoka Tano. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. Did you enjoy the spar?”

Her _lekku_ swung against her back as she nodded vigorously. “Mm-hmm. You were so fast!”

“Practice, practice, practice,” he told her. “I’m sure you’ll be that fast one day, too.”

Her grin widened, showing off her sharp canines. “I’ll have to be faster because I’ll have two lightsabers.” She squeezed Qui-Gon’s hand once more. “I was supposed to be in Clawmouse dorm ten minutes ago. Good night, Master Qui-Gon! Good night, Knight Kenobi!” Forgetting the appropriate bow, Ahsoka took off down the corridor.

Obi-Wan stood perfectly still, staring after the girl, and did not move even after Qui-Gon rested his hand on the small of his back. “Credit for your thoughts?”

“How old is she?” he asked, sounding far away.

“Almost nine.”

“Hmm.”

“You’ll have four years to brush up on your Jar’Kai,” said Qui-Gon.

“Hmm.”

Taking advantage of his copper Knight’s distracted state, Qui-Gon leaned in and brushed his ear with his lips. “I’m ready to go home if you are,” he whispered. Obi-Wan gave a start. That slow smile crossed his face.

“Lead the way. I’ll need a shower and some food. I’m starving.” For propriety’s sake, Qui-Gon let his hand fall away from Obi-Wan’s back, but they walked to the commissary a smidge closer than was completely appropriate. Latemeal was over, but Qui-Gon pulled his High Councilor card and had the mess droid find some edible, mismatched leftovers and box them up. As they made their way to Qui-Gon’s quarters, he relayed what had happened with the clones in the Halls of Healing in a hushed voice.

Obi-Wan’s features were troubled. “Inhibitor chips? That’s a disaster waiting to happen,” he murmured.

“The Kaminoans made no mention of them when they were so upfront about everything else. They either do not want us to know about them, or…”

“Or someone on Kamino placed them there surreptitiously on the orders of someone other than Sifo-Dyas for currently unknown purposes,” finished Obi-Wan. “Little gods, Qui-Gon, those chips could be encoded for hundreds of orders, and we have no idea what those orders are.”

“I’m hoping we can get data off the ones the Healers are taking out of Rex and Cody.” Qui-Gon keyed in his door code. The doors parted, leaving him with a whiff of stale air. Airing out his quarters after a mission was always his least favourite part of coming home. “I’ll serve the food while you have a shower. There are towels in the cupboard.”

“Sounds good.” Obi-Wan pulled the bag strap over his head and turned towards the ‘fresher. As if reconsidering, he pivoted back on the ball of his foot, pushed up onto his toes, and left a lingering kiss on Qui-Gon’s cheek. “Back in a minute.”

While Obi-Wan disappeared into the ‘fresher, Qui-Gon laid out the boxes of food on the counter. Spicy noodles, some kind of baked vegetable dish, and grilled—what was that? Nerf? He grabbed a piece with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. Gamorrean pork, to his dismay. Not his favourite, but Obi-Wan liked it, if he remembered correctly. He piled two plates with a helping of everything he had unpacked, then started the kettle as he heard the shower activate. Which tea? He began to pull out every canister of tea in his cupboard. With each one, he opened the lid and inhaled, until he noticed his hand was shaking. His whole body was tense. The tea canister clinked as he set it down and took several deep, calming breaths. He should not be this nervous. The feel of Obi-Wan’s lips on his skin burned. He was a grown man, and Obi-Wan was a grown man, and he should not be this nervous.

Except that he was.

He did not know exactly how Obi-Wan felt about him. Their bond was still heavily shielded on both sides. Qui-Gon’s feelings were so new, so overpowering, that he could not look at any of this objectively. What was all of this? What could this lead to? The jealousy he had felt on Kamino had provided him with a moment of clarity, but that clarity had fled in the face of his doubts and uncertainty. In his usual fashion, he would probably say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and all of the possibilities would flee in an instant. Obi-Wan might flee, never to return. His heart was hammering in his chest as the anxiety spread through him—

“Qui? Are you okay?” Barefooted and freshly washed, Obi-Wan stood at the entrace to the tiny kitchen. He scrubbed at his hair with a towel, and water droplets stained his clean shirt a darker green.

Qui-Gon nodded quickly, but Obi-Wan squinted at him. “You’re not okay. What is it?” he asked gently, setting the towel on the edge of the counter.

“I–I’m not sure,” Qui-Gon admitted, his tongue feeling thick. Strong hands grasped his arms, maneuvering him out of the kitchen.

“Go sit down. I’ll bring us the food, and we will talk.” The anxiety did little to subside as Qui-Gon eased himself down on the couch. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. After about ten exhales, he was feeling less on the edge of a cliff. After twenty, he was able to open his eyes. The plates of food were on the low table in front of the couch, and Obi-Wan sat, politely not watching him. “A little better now?” he asked, finally turning to watch the Jedi Master.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Nodding, Qui-Gon laid his hand palm up on the cushion between them. Obi-Wan took the invitation and laced his fingers with his. The contact was soothing. The feel of Obi-Wan’s thumb rubbing against the back of his thumb gave him courage.

“I’m overwhelmed by all of this. It’s so sudden, and I haven’t been with another person in a very, very long time,” he managed to say. “I don’t want to screw it up. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t think you’re going to screw it up, Qui,” Obi-Wan replied softly. “I want to be your friend. I want to be with you. I want to be intimate with you. What I don’t want is to make you uncomfortable, or push you into doing something you’re not ready for. I don’t take this lightly, and I don’t take _you_ lightly. If you want to go slowly, we will go slowly. Okay?”

Qui-Gon tightened his hold on Obi-Wan’s fingers with relief. “Okay. Thank you. I want all those things, too.” With a sweet smile, Obi-Wan pulled their hands to his lips and he kissed the spot where their thumbs overlapped.

“Good.” He let go of Qui-Gon’s hand and passed him the plate. “What in the Force did they give us to eat? It smells terrible all together.” He took a bite of noodles and vegetables and grimaced. “It’s the vegetables.”

An hour later, their plates were cleared save for congealed vegetables, and the teapot was empty. Obi-Wan checked the chrono. “It’s tomorrow already. I think I’ve been awake for over forty hours,” he remarked, punctuating it with a yawn. “Don’t we have a meeting on the ship?”

“At 0600,” replied Qui-Gon as he gathered the dishes and took them to the sink. Obi-Wan followed him into the kitchen.

“I will see you then,” Obi-Wan said with a sleepy smile. He started to turn, but Qui-Gon reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “What?”

“You could … stay here. If you’d like.”

Obi-Wan’s grey eyes studied him for a moment. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed his forehead against Qui-Gon’s. Qui-Gon closed the gap, pressing his lips against Obi-Wan’s. “Are you sure?” Obi-Wan said against his mouth before stealing another kiss.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m going to fall asleep standing up in about a minute,” replied Qui-Gon.

“Surely I’m not that bad of a kisser,” protested Obi-Wan, pulling back with a pout. “Clearly I need to convince you otherwise. Possibly in daylight.”

“Clearly.” Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan back to him and kissed him soundly. “I’ll do the dishes while you get ready for bed.”

“Deal.”

The dishes were washed with record speed, and Qui-Gon slid into his bed wearing his sleep shirt and shorts a few minutes later. Obi-Wan, clad in a shirt so old that Qui-Gon recognized as predating Naboo, was leaning up against the headboard, a pillow wedged behind him. In the palm of each hand, he held his river stone and Qui-Gon’s birthday stone. “So you did get my birthday gift,” he said with a smile. “I bribed Master Yoda into letting me give it to one of the crèchelings.”

“That damned troll lied to me. You gave the stone to Ahsoka, actually,” replied Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows flew up into his hair. “Really? That’s … interesting.” His thumb rubbed over the smooth face of the river stone. “I wondered where this was. It wasn’t in any of the storage boxes I got from the quartermaster,” he said.

Qui-Gon offered an embarrassed smile. “They mixed our crates together when I arrived in these rooms. It was at the top of the box, and it reminded me of you. It helped me feel less alone,” he explained, his voice soft.

“Oh, Qui,” breathed Obi-Wan. “I’m sorry I left you for so long.”

“You’re here now.”

Obi-Wan placed both stones carefully on the bedside table and turned off the light. Wriggling down under the covers, he reached out and pressed his hand against Qui-Gon’s cheek. “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Good night.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and felt sleep overtake him with Obi-Wan’s hand a warm weight on his jaw. He slept better that night than in all the nights he could remember.

*

The insistent chirping of the chrono barely punched through the deep blanket of sleep. Qui-Gon squinted at the window and groaned upon seeing the window was still dark. On the other side of the bed, Obi-Wan yawned and grumbled, “Next time you want to set up secret meetings, plan them in the afternoon.”

“Undercover work has made you lazy,” teased Qui-Gon. “We have to be on the _Tortoise_ in less than an hour.”

Another yawn preempted whatever Obi-Wan was going to say. Qui-Gon watched him in the dim light, pale and heavy-lidded, and was struck with sudden joy that he had stayed. Last night’s anxiety had faded, leaving him able to appreciate waking up next to Obi-Wan. “Obi-Wan?”

“Mmm?”

“If we skip breakfast, we’ll have ten minutes to ourselves.” His copper Knight’s eyes widened, then he offered Qui-Gon a leisurely smirk.

“I can work with that,” he replied, bridging the gap between them and snaking his arm over Qui-Gon’s hip. “C’mere.”

Their lips met, and Qui-Gon found a warm expanse of muscled back to explore with his fingertips. When the chrono squawked at them again, Qui-Gon considered using the Force to fling it out the window and said as much. Obi-Wan laughed and kissed the tip of Qui-Gon’s nose. “Come on, I’ll make us some tea while you shower. We wouldn’t want to keep the entire High Council waiting.”

“Says who?” Qui-Gon groused as he carefully and reluctantly rolled out of bed.

*

They managed to make it to the _Tortoise_ on time, but Depa and Anakin met them at the loading ramp with their hands full of folding chairs. Qui-Gon led them to the largest cargo bay, and started rearranging crates with judicious application of the Force. Depa herded Anakin in front of her. “I’m a Padawan, not a pack animal,” grumbled Anakin as he set the chairs down in the corner.

“Actually, being a pack animal is part of the job description,” replied Depa with a straight face. She propped her chairs next to Anakin’s and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, short stack, we have to set them up, too.”

Anakin glared at his sister-Padawan. “Depa, I’m taller than you.”

The Chalactan Master shrugged and smiled sweetly. “You’ll always be a tiny blond kid who thinks water is ‘ _wizard_ ’ to me,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eye. Anakin rolled his eyes. Across the room, Obi-Wan was desperately trying to hide his shaking shoulders and wide grin by lifting a sealed box over his head and stacking it on another container. Slowly but surely, the rest of the High Council trickled in in varying states of wakefulness. No one said anything but greetings and polite pleasantries. The stack of chairs quickly became a circle as Obi-Wan and Plo Koon helped Depa and Anakin arrange them. When Mace finally stepped over the cargo bay threshold, he raised an eyebrow at his Padawan.

Anakin smiled hopefully. “Don’t you need me to take notes or something, Mace?”

“No,” Mace replied. “And if anyone asks, I’m indisposed. Go study for your Huttese exam.”

“I’ve spoken Huttese since I was four,” pouted Anakin.

“Sure, but this exam will have decidedly fewer questions on profanity. Off with you.” Mace shooed his apprentice out the door and followed him a few steps to ensure he really did leave the ship.

“Have a seat, everyone, please,” Qui-Gon said. After some shuffling and scraping of chairs on the decking, twelve Jedi sat facing each other with similar expressions of bemusement and a hint of suspicion. Obi-Wan dragged a crate over and arranged himself next to Qui-Gon.

“What this is about, tell us, Qui-Gon,” Yoda demanded without preamble. The little Master looked tired, and the tension in his body spoke of painful joints this morning. “Highly unusual to ask for a meeting in a cargo hold, it is.”

“It is, Master Yoda, and I apologize for the inconvenience. I cannot be certain, but it is possible that the Temple’s audiovisual recording systems have been tampered with.” The Jedi exchanged concerned glances among themselves. “What will be said in this room must not be uttered beyond the hull of this ship, to anyone, without the approval of everyone here,” Mace announced. All eyes snapped to him, like iron filings to a magnet. The underlying curiosity in the room was almost tangible. “Four years ago I was granted a vision from the Force. Some of you witnessed it happen. The Force showed me the rest of my life and the manner of my death. It showed me the destruction of the entire Jedi Order by a Sith Lord more powerful, more cunning, than we could ever conceive.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi, as Qui-Gon expected, frowned in protest. “How can you be certain that this was a true vision? It sounds preposterous.”

No one uttered a sound or shifted in their seats, but Qui-Gon could sense an underlying hum of agreement. Their eyes, filled with horror, disbelief, but also the desire to know more, bored into Mace. To his credit, he stared back at them, unwavering. “I’ve shared this vision with Qui-Gon to prove that I’m not insane, or imagining things. How do you think we discovered the clones on Kamino? They featured heavily in the vision.”

“Your vision had twenty thousand clone soldiers?” Even Piell asked.

“Not twenty thousand. Millions. An entire army bred for the sole purpose of waging a galactic civil war, whose creation was—and now is currently—thanks to the Sith compelling Master Sifo-Dyas.”

“In the case of galactic war, no doubt we would be the ones leading the clones into battle,” Plo Koon mused, his fingers steepled as he thought. “The Jedi Order does not have enough fighting Knights and Masters to conduct a war. We would be spread too thinly.”

“We put Padawans in command, too,” Mace said quietly. Depa’s jaw dropped at this revelation, and Plo looked scandalized behind his breathing apparatus. “That’s how stretched the Order would be if we had to fight a galaxy-wide, ongoing conflict that lasted years. The initial conflict that started the war led to a loss of over a hundred Jedi.” Mace shook his head slightly before continuing. “There were many things that I saw in this vision, but the most important, the most critical, was the identity of the Sith Master.”

“Master, why didn’t you say anything before now? We could have hunted him down years ago,” Depa protested, and he raised a hand to silence her.

“He hasn’t told you who it is yet, Master Billaba,” Obi-Wan replied quietly.

“But he told you?” she demanded, a bit petulant.

“Obi-Wan figured it out on his own,” Qui-Gon told her, not bothering to tamp down the pride in his words.

“Who is it?” Yoda interjected with surprising harshness. “Unmask him, we will.”

Mace’s mouth was a hard line. “Chancellor Palpatine. He goes by the name of Darth Sidious.”

The room exploded into disbelieving Jedi all talking over one another. Qui-Gon noticed, however, that next to him, Yoda was silent. “What say you, Master Yoda?” he asked.

The wizened green Jedi tilted his head to look up at him, then banged his gimer stick on the legs of his chair. The room became abruptly quiet as the Jedi turned their attention to their eldest. “Carefully, we must tread. Treasonous, these words are, Master Windu,” he said slowly. “Evidence other than this vision, do you have?”

“Circumstantial evidence,” Qui-Gon replied. “Nothing that would stand up in court. Tahl found a single message in the deleted Kaminoan comm logs from Kamino to Coruscant confirming the programming of clone inhibitor chips. I have financial data that may prove useful if Master Dooku could have a look at it.” Dooku had his inscrutable Jedi Master face on, but he inclined his head. “Obi-Wan, would you tell them what you told me?”

With a grim set to his mouth, the new Knight relayed the events in the medical ward of Naboo. Mace’s face grew darker with each passing word, until Anakin’s name came up. His hands clenched into fists; Qui-Gon heard one of his knuckles crack under the pressure. As Obi-Wan named the Chancellor again, Depa rubbed her face with her hands. “I just can’t imagine him being a Sith Lord,” she said. “He seems so nice.”

“Of course he’s nice. It’s hard to hide in plain sight if you’re being obviously evil,” retorted Obi-Wan. “It’s not like he’s going to be doing Sith blood magic in the middle of a budget meeting. Isn’t there anyone else here who gets a bad feeling when you meet him?”

To Qui-Gon’s shock, slow hands crept into the air around the room in silence. Of the twelve High Councilors, only Dooku and Qui-Gon remained still. Adi Gallia looked ready to burst into tears, but her voice was steady. “I thought it was just me. It wasn’t clear, like warning from the Force, but I just never really liked him. I didn’t say anything because he’s the Chancellor, and it’s not my job to like him.”

“I was uncomfortable in his presence, but I could never put my finger on it,” Even Piell bit out, his scarred face glowering at his fellow Jedi, who were nodding along with him.

Saesee Tiin appeared the most shellshocked. His wide eyes flicked around the room. “I sensed nothing from him, either in the Force or telepathically, but I always felt his eyes on me, even after we parted ways,” he whispered.

“I’ve never been in a room with him,” announced Dooku gravely. “Neither has Qui-Gon—at least, not while he’s been conscious.”

Yoda heaved a great, troubled sigh. “Failed us, the Force has,” he murmured.

“No! No, my friend, the Force has not failed us,” Mace replied fiercely. “Sidious is a master of deceit and obfuscation, of manipulation and the dark side of the Force. He fooled us all in my vision, right up until he killed us all in a single stroke. It is imperative that we do not underestimate him. He is no less a master of the Sith here, now, except this time we know who he is. The Force requires balance, and perhaps my vision was its way of ensuring the darkness does not overshadow the light.”

“If we know who he is, why don’t we just kill him?” Even interjected. Heads swivelled to the Lannik, who shrugged. “It would be the most practical solution.”

“He killed four High Councilors in less than a minute,” Mace retorted. “He is a better duellist than any of us here, including Dooku and Yoda. Beyond that, he is the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. What do you think would happen to the Order if we assassinated him?”

“The Senate would order our disbandment, possibly arrest us all for treason and murder, and exile the Jedi beyond the Outer Rim,” replied Depa. “If they didn’t just round up all the High Council and execute us, first. The Jedi Order would cease to exist.”

“If stopping him physically isn’t the answer, why don’t we stop him politically?” Obi-Wan said suddenly, his eyes lighting up with possibilities. For a moment, everyone simply stared at him, until Yoda tapped his stick against the chair. The metallic sound echoed through the cargo bay.

“An idea have you, Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Master Yoda. We play the game politically and take him out of power. Master Dooku has been working on a proposal to distance the Order from the Senate to better serve the galaxy and its citizens as a more neutral body, less beholden to the orders of the Senate. It is … problematic in some respects, but the idea is sound. What if we had a Senator sponsor this proposal and see what Palpatine’s reaction is? If we surprise him, he may not have a premeditated response. There is evidence that he is meddling in the Order already. Maybe we can draw him out or make him slip up.”

“What evidence is this?” Depa’s brow furrowed.

“The money,” Dooku breathed. “That’s why you wanted me to classify the subcommittee’s report into the Order’s funding.” At Qui-Gon’s nod, Dooku explained, “The Order’s budgets have been specifically manipulated by the Senate to ensure that we find and acquire fewer Force-sensitive children. We should have double the Jedi population that we do now. The timeline matches exactly Palpatine’s time serving in the Senate, but there’s no way to pin it on him specifically.”

“Double?!” burst out Ki-Adi-Mundi. “How is that even possible without us noticing?”

“Between the Sith being an excellent manipulator in a position of power and our own complacency, it’s not that far-fetched,” Dooku snapped back. “We’ve spent a thousand years kow-towing to the Galactic Senate, and Palpatine used that to his advantage.”

“Assassination is starting to look very attractive right now,” muttered Even. “Say that we do this. We need a sympathetic, trustworthy Senator.”

Mace was tapping his chin thoughtfully. “That’s not a problem. Bail Organa owes me eight and a half favours.” Glancing around at his fellow Jedi, he leaned forward. The folding chair squeaked and protested at the sudden movement. “We can do this, if we all work together, my friends. We are Jedi, and we will not let the Sith defeat us. I know you have doubts, but we are not leaving this cargo bay until we have planned, and planned again. I will not let Sidious win.” Under his breath, Qui-Gon heard him mutter, “Not again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Happy Canadian Thanksgiving weekend! To celebrate, I hope you enjoy this chapter and eat some pie. Thanks to my awesome beta Aryax, who deserves all good things.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the day is not...uneventful. Dooku is not pleased.

The Coruscanti sun glared at the top of the sky by the time the Jedi High Council slipped back into the Temple as though they had never been absent. Qui-Gon bade Plo Koon a subtle farewell as they parted ways; the Kel Dor headed towards Temple security while Qui-Gon made his way to the Halls of Healing once more to check on Rex and Cody. He had left Obi-Wan on the _Tortoise_ to rearrange the cargo bay with a promise to meet him for latemeal. As he rounded the corner, Qui-Gon stopped short to avoid bumping into Anakin, whose head was bent over an upturned mouse droid as he walked.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, and Anakin’s eyes flew up to meet his. “Oh! Sorry, Qui-Gon, I was just fixing a jammed wheel.”

“The Temple has maintenance staff, you know,” Qui-Gon teased.

A lopsided smile crossed Anakin’s pale features. “I do know. I like to do it, though. It saves this little guy the trouble of waiting for someone to track it down. It couldn’t very well get to the maintenance bay on its own like this.”

“Fair enough. Thank you for your conscientiousness, Padawan Skywalker.” The tips of the boy’s ears reddened a bit at the praise, and Anakin abruptly changed the subject. “Did you hear about what happened in the Senate?” he asked, his voice hushed.

“I did.” Surprised at Anakin’s interest, Qui-Gon asked, “I did not realize you followed politics.”

His ears reddened some more, but Anakin’s voice was mostly steady when he replied, “I’ve been more interested since Senator Amidala was elected. We’ve been penpals since she was Queen of Naboo.”

Discomfort and nervousness were rolling off the boy in waves. _So it is to be these two, as much here as in the vision._ Qui-Gon patted the boy on the shoulder. “It’s always good to have friends, Anakin. Can I ask you how Padmé was elected to the Senate? I thought she had a few years yet as Queen.”

At the mention of Amidala’s given name, Anakin’s face lit up. His sky-blue eyes danced. “Oh! Well, Horace Vancil was up for the seat, but he had a heart attack or something and wasn’t up to the job. Chancellor Palpatine recommended Padmé for the job, even though she was still Queen of Naboo, and she agreed to take it. She wants to get the Gungans a Senate seat as part of the Chommell Sector,” he added confidentially.

Qui-Gon frowned. “But as Chancellor, he’s not supposed to make senatorial recommendations like that.”

Shaking his head, Anakin replied, “No, but he’s still an elected senator from Naboo. He doesn’t hold that position because he’s holding the Chancellorship, and he can’t show any favouritism towards Naboo or vote as a Senator unless there’s a tie, but no one can be Chancellor without first being an elected Senator. He recommended Padmé privately on Naboo, but didn’t endorse her in his position as Chancellor. See?” He held out the mouse droid and placed it back on the floor, where it squeaked its binary thanks and rolled away.

“Sounds like you’re doing well in your galactic politics class.”

“I have to keep up with Padmé somehow,” he replied with a smile. Another Jedi passed them at a sedate walk, and Anakin straightened his posture. His eyes flicked down the hall to check on the Jedi’s progress away from them. “I mean, I’m doing my best in all my classes, sir. Thank you.”

Qui-Gon waited for the corridor to clear before turning a stern face to the boy. “Anakin, what was that all about?”

Fingers twisting together nervously, Anakin said quietly, “I know I’m not supposed to be attached to Padmé. I know it’s forbidden.”

_Oh, hells. Can this day get any longer?_ “Anakin, tell me what attachment is,” replied Qui-Gon, keeping his voice hushed. “In your own words.”

“Well, attachment is liking someone too much. It’s when that person is all you can think about, and you want to be with them, and only them.” Even though he was almost as tall as Obi-Wan now, Anakin’s pale face was that of a boy—scared and confused.

“No, Anakin, that sounds more like love than attachment,” Qui-Gon confided. “Love is not forbidden, but attachment is. Attachment is when you are unable to set your love aside, to acknowledge it and continue to do your duty as a Jedi. Being free from attachment is leaving your love behind when the mission is at stake, when other lives are in danger. It’s accepting that you can’t control the universe, that you can’t control life or death when it comes to the person you love. When thinking about that person consumes you to the exclusion of everything else, when you’re unable to look at a situation critically and professionally, love becomes attachment.” He ducked his head a little to catch Anakin’s troubled gaze. “ _That’s_ why serious relationships are forbidden to Padawans, Anakin. It’s extremely difficult to draw the line between love and attachment for adults who have trained their minds and dedicated themselves to the Order. It’s asking the impossible for young people going through puberty, whose bodies are at the mercy of their growing and changing minds, to understand and make that choice.”

“Are Jedi allowed to be married?” Anakin asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Under the specific wording of our Order’s rules, Jedi Knights are allowed to have relationships and be married because we have those rights as Republic citizens, but there is a staunch … cultural opposition. Of the entire Order, only Ki-Adi-Mundi is married, and his wives are not Jedi. The vast majority of us believe that love interferes with everything we do, and that it clouds our relationship with the Force. Personally, I don’t believe that, and there are others who agree with me, but it’s not an opinion you will hear often, and certainly not in public.”

Anakin said nothing for a moment, his brows knitted together in deep thought. “No one ever explained it like that. I mean, Mace told me it was okay to have a relationship with my mom, even though no one else sees _their_ mom, and he said it was okay to write letters to Padmé as long as it’s just letters until I’m forty, but I’ve been hearing all this other stuff from the other Padawans and in my classes.”

“I can see why the whole thing would be very confusing,” agreed Qui-Gon. “Maybe keeping it to penpals for the foreseeable future would be wise.”

Blue eyes widening at the implication, Anakin stared unabashedly at the Jedi Master, then nodded with relief. “I’m only thirteen. And she’s a _Senator._ ”

“Precisely. If you have anything else you want to discuss, you can always come talk to me, Anakin. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who isn’t your guardian. Or who isn’t Mace Windu.”

Anakin made a noise that sounded like he was trying to stifle a snort. He offered Qui-Gon a proper Padawan’s bow. “Thank you, Qui-Gon. I have to get to class.” The boy darted away, walking at a fast clip, and Qui-Gon watched him go with a strangely light heart. As he resumed his path to the Healers, a small smile played on his lips and stayed there until he sought out Abella.

The Chitanook Healer could have been mistaken for a furry thundercloud seated behind a cluttered desk. As Qui-Gon poked his head into her office, she caught sight of him and growled. “I didn’t do anything!” he insisted, hands up in mock surrender.

“I’m not angry with you, Master. I’m furious at whoever put those chips into the clones,” she retorted. “Those men are lucky they had Jedi surgeons to remove the implants. They may have died anywhere else.”

“Where are they?” he asked as he moved a stack of datapads from the only other chair in the room onto a sliver of clear desk and sat down.

“Still here. I wanted to keep them for observation. You can visit them if you’d like. I don’t know what the chip removal will do to them. Qui-Gon,” Abella held out a clear specimen box for him to take, “these are insidious.”

He jumped a bit at the word, and she eyed him suspiciously. “Beyond their purpose?” he replied, covering his sudden movement.

“Every inhibitor chip the Jedi have ever come across have been metallic or otherwise detectable on a sensitive bioscan. These are made of material we have never seen. All I can tell you is that they are inorganic and don’t show up on our scans. The only reason I was able to detect it with the Force is because I was looking for it, and because I had a pretty good idea of what I was looking for. No Jedi without Force-assisted medical training would find it, I’m sure of it. These Kaminoans, whoever they are, have implanted these inhibitor chips and don’t want anyone to know about it.”

Qui-Gon held the specimen box up to the light. An irregularly-shaped blob, thin as a piece of flimsi and mottled brown, filled the bottom of the box. It looked harmless, like some kind of one-celled organism. “Is there any way to find out what orders are encoded on this chip?”

“How can I get data off material I can’t even identify?” Abella threw up her hands in frustration.

Qui-Gon set the box back down on the desk with a muted click. “How do we get them out of the clones?”

“There’s no way we could successfully remove twenty thousand chips surgically.” Abella shook her head fiercely. “Even if we had the personnel and the facilities, we would likely incur fatalities. The chips are in a very delicate region of the brain, and perfect removal of that many implants would be impossible even for the best surgeon.”

Deep in thought, Qui-Gon stroked the beard on his chin. “What if we were able to neutralize the chip without surgery? It obviously has some kind of component that receives signals. Can we destroy that component without harming the clones?”

Abella was already jotting notes onto a datapad with a stylus. Her head stayed bowed over the screen as she replied, “The chips are inorganic, so I can’t kill them, per se. Maybe a compound to dissolve it, and the body absorbs it?” She started muttering to herself in Chitanook, until suddenly she glanced up. “Oh! You’re still here. I’ll do some tests, Master Qui-Gon. I will let you know when I have a solution.” Her head returned to the datapad. Qui-Gon, knowing when he had been dismissed, eased himself out of the chair and slipped out of the Healer’s office.

*

Finding the clones was as simple as asking a passing Padawan, who gave him both directions and a strict admonition to keep the visit brief. _They really start the overbearing Healer training young_ , he mused as he found the correct door and knocked on the open doorframe. A privacy curtain was pulled across the entryway.

“May I come in?” he asked, pitching his voice just loud enough to carry into the room.

“Yes,” replied the clones in unison from behind the curtain. He ducked around the fabric and found both Rex and Cody lying on identical medical beds spaced a few feet apart. In light blue medical gowns, the clone brothers looked far less imposing than they did in their armour. They also looked bored. “Good afternoon, Master Qui-Gon,” Rex greeted him.

“Good afternoon. I just came from Healer Abella and I wanted to see how the two of you are faring.”

Cody shrugged. “Fine, I guess. They won’t let us leave until tomorrow.” He cocked his head slightly at the Jedi Master. “What happens to us now?”

“Excellent question,” replied Qui-Gon. “I’ve been appointed by the High Council to guide you and your brothers through the process to gain Republic citizenship. The sooner that happens, the better.”

From the other bed, Rex’s frown was palpable. “Respectfully, I still don’t understand exactly why we need this. I know you were talking about rights and politics, but Master Qui-Gon, we are clones. We were bred to fight for the Republic, to follow the orders of the Jedi and the Chancellor. What purpose do we have if we aren’t going to fight?”

Cody appeared ready to nod along with his brother for a moment, but instead crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “We have to find a new purpose.”

“Like what?” retorted Rex. “Be mercenaries? Bounty hunters? Do we walk away from fighting and become farmers, Cody? A colony of clones on some barren planet waiting for our deaths of old age?”

 With a shrug, Cody said, “I don’t have all the answers, Rex. All I know is that I want all these things that Master Qui-Gon is talking about. I want rights. I want to be a person, not just a clone, and I want that for all our brothers.” He turned his attention to Qui-Gon. “What do we need to do? I’ll go crazy just sitting here.”

“Let’s start with the basics. I’ll scrounge up some history on the Republic and its political system, then we can talk about how we will draft our petition for entry. I can’t guarantee this will work, Cody. I am an experienced diplomat, and I have successfully guided other groups to Republic membership. But,” he hesitated slightly, “there is underlying tension about cloning in many parts of the Republic. There are less than a handful of worlds that allow full-body sentient cloning, and those worlds are home to societies who only reproduce in that manner. It took hard negotiation to allow them to join the Republic. You are fortunate in that we can use those societies as precedents, but the fact that you and your brothers were cloned to create an army will make people extremely nervous.”

“Farming it is, eh?” Rex snorted derisively.

“Quite possibly,” replied Qui-Gon with a wry smile. “Showing you’re not interested in stirring up trouble with the Republic is a good start.”

“The Kaminoans will never allow this,” Cody said with a grimace. “We may be here on Coruscant, under the protection of the Jedi, but our brothers are back home completely unaware of this entire situation. What we are doing right now borders on mutiny. If we go back to Kamino and they find out about this petition, they will deactivate us.”

“They might deactivate all of us,” Rex breathed, his eyes wide. “Master Qui-Gon, we need to get our brothers off Kamino. The Kaminoans hold no love for the Republic other than their money, and they hold no real love for us, either.”

“But they’ve been paid for every clone brother on Kamino. As awful as it sounds, the Kaminoans would be destroying clones that belong to the Republic. Would they risk that conflict?” A horrific image of dead clones being disposed of in the oceans of Kamino rose in Qui-Gon’s mind, and he suppressed a shudder. Until they could form their own leadership, away from the Kaminoans, the clones needed his guidance. They needed his knowledge.

Cody’s sharp face was filled with bitterness. “The Kaminoans would have no qualms about destroying us and then simply giving you a refund. Their only export is clones. They would tell you that we were defective and give you a line about protecting their reputation.”

With a long exhale, Qui-Gon stroked the hairs on his chin. “Then we need to find a place for your brothers to stay before we present the petition to the Senate.”

Qui-Gon spent the rest of his afternoon sitting with the clones, ignoring the admonition to keep the visit short and offering a crash course in Republic history, politics, and membership petitions. The light streaming into their room through the window had shifted low and orange, leaving long shadows and uncomfortable glare. He shifted his body. The pops in his spine as he stretched told of a day spent sitting. Stifling a yawn, he said, “Now, if we take a look at the petition format—” The insistent chirp of his comm interrupted him, and he gave Rex and Cody an apologetic look. He thumbed the appropriate button on the device. “Jinn here.”

“It’s me,” replied the unmistakable of voice of Mace Windu. “We have a problem. Meet me at the top of the Grand Stair immediately.” The urgent undertone of his words concerned him, and he was already shuffling his datapads and rising from his chair.

“Acknowledged.” He stuffed the comm back into his pocket and opened his hands to the clones in regret. “Sorry, gentlemen. Keep reading the materials, make notes, mark any questions you have for me, and we’ll pick this back up again tomorrow, all right?”

“Of course, Master Qui-Gon. Duty calls,” Rex replied, and Cody nodded. Both men bent back over their datapads, intent on digesting as much information as possible, before Qui-Gon even left the room.

*

The hard, tensioned lines of Mace Windu’s face suggested that he was seriously worried. Qui-Gon approached him carefully at the top of the Grand Stair, and the Korun did not even acknowledge his presence before speaking in a voice Qui-Gon had to strain to hear. “Yoda is missing,” he murmured. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’ll wager every credit in the galaxy that he’s gone after the Sith.”

“How long has he been missing?” replied Qui-Gon, just as quietly. His eyes were now scanning the tableau in a vain attempt to spot the little green Master.

“I don’t know exactly. He showed up for his class with the younglings, walked out when it was over, and no one has seen him since. Security did not see him leave through any entrance, or get onto a landing platform. It’s been no more than three hours.” Mace finally turned his dark brown eyes on Qui-Gon. “If he reveals what we know to the Sith, he’s going to get killed.”

“Then we find him. Now. Alert Temple security,” Qui-Gon urged him, but Mace was already shaking his head.

“And tell them what? Yoda’s off to kill a Sith Master?”

“No. Tell them he’s ill and needs to go to the Healers. Something serious enough to need Healers but not contagious. Tell the High Council what’s really going on, but if we put out a health alert, even the children can look for him. Then we hope to all the little gods that he hasn’t left the Temple yet.” Mace was already pulling out his comm and sending a Council-wide message. Qui-Gon blew out a frustrated breath. He waited for Mace to finish and quirked an eyebrow. “You did check the usual spots, yes?”

Mace shot him a glare that could have peeled paint. “I didn’t think of that,” he snapped sarcastically. “He’s not in his quarters, or the meditation rooms, or the classrooms, or the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He’s nowhere on internal sensors.” Mace pulled on the hood of his cloak. “I’m going over to the Senate building. If he’s there, I’m going to have to stop him.”

“For Force’s sake, Mace, don’t engage the Sith,” Qui-Gon hissed.

“I’m planning on coming home with both my hands,” retorted Mace with perfect seriousness. He turned, ready to hurry down the stairs. “Find him, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon had his comm out before Mace reached the middle of the staircase. “Obi-Wan?”

“It’s a bit early for latemeal,” came the Knight’s voice on the other end, sounding relaxed and happy to hear from him. Qui-Gon grimaced at the loss of their evening together.

“It is,” he replied. “We have a situation, and I need your help. Where are you?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was instantly on alert, serious and clipped. “Training salle three besh. What’s going on?”

“I’ll meet you there. I’m coming right now. If you see Yoda, keep him with you at all costs.” With that dire warning, he shut off his comm and shoved it back into his pocket as he hurried down the stairs towards the training salles. Just as he passed the corridor leading to the communications rooms, Dooku hailed him. His normally stern face would now scare children; he looked ready to eat rocks.

“I’m going to murder that little green troll,” Dooku grated through his teeth as he joined Qui-Gon, neither slowing down nor stopping to have the conversation. “I’m going to make a handbag out of his hide.”

“He was your Master. Where would he go?”

“Straight into the lion’s den,” snarled the older Jedi. “Why aren’t we walking to the landing platforms? We need to head him off at the Senate.”

“Mace is already going over there,” explained Qui-Gon. “I can’t sense him, Dooku, but I have the feeling he hasn’t left the Temple yet.”

“The Force?”

Qui-Gon shook his head slightly. “Unfortunately, no. I just think Yoda would want as much information as possible before trying to defeat a Sith.”

With a glower, Dooku replied, “He has his name. That’s enough information for Master Yoda. But the entire High Council descending on the Senate building would raise more than a few questions, so we shall search the Temple.”

At the far end of the corridor, Obi-Wan hailed them with a raised hand and jogged to meet them. His lightsaber bumped against his leg, in a different spot altogether than he had used as an apprentice and upon his return to the Temple. “I just heard an announcement over the internal comm system. Master Yoda’s ill?”

Qui-Gon checked over his shoulder for anyone close enough to eavesdrop, then shook his head very slightly. Quickly, he explained the situation, and Obi-Wan’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “The internal sensors can’t find him? Aren’t there a few places in the Temple where the sensors don’t run constantly?”

Dooku turned his face to Qui-Gon. “You really outdid yourself with this one,” he said, jerking a thumb in Obi-Wan’s direction. At Qui-Gon’s confused look, Dooku started back down the corridor. “Come on. I have a hunch.”

Qui-Gon had the long legs to keep up with the elder Jedi, and Obi-Wan had spent over a decade keeping up with Qui-Gon without ever breaking a sweat. Glancing over at his copper Knight, Qui-Gon offered a small smile. “Hi.”

Lips quirking in reply, Obi-Wan said, “Not how I expected our evening to evolve.” He brushed his pinkie against the back of Qui-Gon’s hand.

“Definitely not.”

They passed roaming groups of Jedi and even Initiates with darting, scanning eyes as Dooku led them through the Temple. Lower and lower they delved, switching turbolifts and descending staircases that Qui-Gon could not quite remember if he had ever set foot upon before. Dooku said nothing, answered no questions. With a single-minded intensity, he descended further into the building’s bowels. Both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan glanced around their surroundings with hesitant looks. The air was stale. The windows were dark here, indicating they were below the entrance level of the Temple. Dim light fixtures threw weak light as if in power-saving mode. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to question his master’s path, then shut it again without saying a word. Dooku’s stride had not let up. A narrow, circular stairway spiralled even further down, and Dooku hurried along, his hand ghosting against the wall in the absence of a hand rail. Qui-Gon followed, blinking his eyes to adjust to the increasing darkness. The further they descended, the fewer lights still worked. The stairs seemed to stretch for an interminable time, and by the time he reached the final stair, he was out of breath and his scar was throbbing in time with his heart. At the bottom landing of the stairs, shrouded in shadow, he actually bumped into Dooku’s back; the elder Jedi stood staring at the closed door in front of him, and Qui-Gon suddenly felt Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder.

“What is this place?” he whispered in Qui-Gon’s ear.

“We are at the very bottom of the sacred spire,” Dooku replied, his voice hushed and rumbling like a large bumblebee. “This is part of the original Temple, before the city grew up around it.”

“Why have we never come here?” Obi-Wan asked, reverence clear in his tone.

“Many reasons. Mostly because we have forgotten that these rooms and structures exist. The top of the spire is easily accessible, so why take all the stairs and breathe old air?” Dooku shifted away from Qui-Gon. “Now, let’s hope he didn’t lock the door. Obi-Wan, some light, please.”

A soft rustling came from behind Qui-Gon, then blue light flooded the landing with the _snap-hiss_ of an activating lightsaber. Dooku placed his hands on the closed door and Qui-Gon felt a sudden surge as his Master brought the Force to bear upon the door mechanism. With the painful squeal of dry metal gears, the door shuddered open. Air choked with dust assailed their eyes and noses, and Obi-Wan coughed but kept his ‘saber up. Dooku cleared his throat and marched into the dark room as though it were a normal, brightly lit room at the top of the Temple. Hesitantly, Qui-Gon followed, and Obi-Wan brought up the rear with his ‘saber casting a dim light that was quickly devoured by the cavernous structure.

Dooku had brought them not to a room but a great hall, larger than any place within the Temple Qui-Gon knew so well. The pale blue ‘saber light allowed him to just make out the graceful ribs of a vaulted ceiling at least ten stories tall. Not a single sliver of light found its way through a window here. As he squinted towards the centre of the room with little success, he closed his eyes and touched the Force.

He nearly collapsed as his senses were flooded. Nowhere had the Force ever felt so strong, so pure, even at the top of the sacred spire; it was almost as if he were drowning in the Force and he did not care if it swallowed him whole. He could sense Dooku, flickering with irritation and worry and even love for his tiny green Master. Obi-Wan was a shining presence behind him, radiating awe and a brightness of spirit that brought a hard knot of emotion to Qui-Gon’s throat. The room was otherwise empty. He could feel every dust mote tickling his skin, every uneven crack in the floor under his boots, every whisper of silk over wool, every tightening of claws over gimer wood—

“Master Yoda, I know you’re here. Please come out,” he called softly. Obi-Wan slipped his free hand into his, curling his fingers over his knuckles, and squeezed their palms together. The Force seemed to hum with joy at the contact. Qui-Gon’s breath caught, and he concentrated on the approaching taps of Yoda’s stick against the broken ceramic tiles.

Yoda, their eldest, blinked owlishly at the light from Obi-Wan’s ‘saber. “Alone, I wished to be,” he grumbled at Dooku. “A meddler, you have become.”

“I learned from the best,” Dooku replied dryly. “What are you doing down here, Master? The entire Temple is looking for you.”

The little troll frowned and peered into Dooku’s face. Obi-Wan dropped Qui-Gon’s hand before Yoda turned his gaze on them. His tone was both surprised and accusatory. “Why?”

“Mace thought you were going after the Sith on your own,” Qui-Gon explained. “We were … very concerned.”

Yoda gave a humourless chuckle. “Considered it, I did. After Mace’s story about the Clone War, my mind, I changed. Came here to listen to the Force, I did instead.” A great sadness hunched his shoulders, and the thick lids of his eyes drooped. “Silent, the Force is on this matter, even here. Impossible to see, the Sith is. Failed, I have.”

Dooku knelt before his Master, ignoring the thick grey dust coating his perfectly creased black trousers, and held out his hand. His voice was gentle. “Come back to us, Yoda. The Force has not failed you, truly. You alone do not bear the blame for being blind to the Sith when all of us had the obligation to listen to the Force and our own damned intuition. You cannot defeat him on your own, and I do not wish to witness what would happen should you try, my Master.” After a silent hesitation, Yoda slowly set his clawed hand in Dooku’s palm. With a practiced motion, he clambered up onto the silver-haired human’s shoulders, looking both sad and comfortable atop his old Padawan.

“Home, you will take me,” he said quietly. “Please, Dooku.”

Without a word, Dooku strode out the door, moderating his rapid stride to avoid jostling the elderly Jedi on his back. Qui-Gon watched them disappear up the staircase with a sense of amazement at the care the irascible Dooku took with his own Master. As if it were a living being, he could feel the Force’s happiness, and he basked in the feeling with his eyes closed until he heard Obi-Wan’s boots scuffing the floor. The quiet hum of his lightsaber filled his ears, but Obi-Wan said nothing. “Obi-Wan?” he asked softly.

“Hmm?”

Qui-Gon turned to face his former apprentice. The blue light softened his features and threw long shadows over the hollows of his face. “Will you teach me to hide in the Force?”

“Now?” replied Obi-Wan with surprise. At Qui-Gon’s careful nod, he shrugged with one shoulder. “I suppose it will be easier here than anywhere else. Can you meditate standing up, or would you prefer to kneel?”

“I don’t think I’d be able to get up, not after all those stairs. Standing is fine.”

Obi-Wan nodded, then motioned to his lightsaber. “You’re going to close your eyes anyway. I’m going to turn this off.” The ‘saber deactivated with another snap, leaving the pair of Jedi in complete darkness. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s hands run down his arms and under his wrist, so that the Knight’s palms lay flat beneath Qui-Gon’s. “Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes,” murmured Qui-Gon.

“You’re going to enter a light meditative state. Just enough to feel the Force, to let it fill you.” As he focused on his breath, the Force flooded into Qui-Gon with the same intensity as when he first stepped into the massive chamber. “Now wrap yourself in the Force, as though it were a cloak. Like this.” He could _see_ Obi-Wan do exactly that; the contact of their hands made it simple to focus on his manipulation of the Force. In the space of one breath, Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force went from alluring and bright to non-existent. The bond in Qui-Gon’s mind winked out, and only the feel of Obi-Wan’s calloused hands beneath his palm kept panic at bay. “Now you try.”

The Force was so strong here that it was almost tangible. Qui-Gon mentally grasped an edge of energy and folded it around himself. Nothing felt different for him, but he heard Obi-Wan laugh with delight. “Exactly, Qui. I can’t sense you anymore. But…” He trailed off, concern tinging his voice. “What is that?”

“What?”

“I can’t feel you, but I can sense … darkness,” he whispered. “As though out of the corner of my eye, or just a hint.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open, but that changed nothing. They had been swallowed by shadows. “Where is it coming from?”

Slowly, Obi-Wan moved his right hand away from Qui-Gon’s palm and trailed it up the Master’s arm. He hesitated, then carefully hovered his hand over Qui-Gon’s chest. The heat from Obi-Wan’s skin was palpable through the layers of silk tunics. “Here,” Obi-Wan croaked. “I can feel it—here.”

*

 

While Qui-Gon paced the perimeter of his sitting room, completely incapable of saying anything coherent, Obi-Wan sat on the couch, cradling a cup of tea without drinking it. Delicate petals of steam had curled above the liquid an hour ago. As if the cold tea spurred him to say something, anything, Obi-Wan set the cup down on the saucer and rose from his seat. He stood in front of Qui-Gon, blocking his path. “You’ve not said a thing in hours,” he said. Tentatively, he reached up and settled his hand along Qui-Gon’s jaw. “Please, Qui, talk to me.”

The gentle press of skin was so warm, so comforting, that Qui-Gon leaned into it with relief. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “What you told me is terrifying.”

“I always wanted to see you speechless, but this isn’t what I had in mind,” Obi-Wan said wryly with a half-smile. Unable to smile back, Qui-Gon just stared at him.

Obi-Wan grasped Qui-Gon’s hand and tugged on it until the older Jedi allowed himself to be guided to the couch. As he eased himself down, Obi-Wan curled up next to him with his stockinged feet tucked up on the cushion. Gently, he pulled Qui-Gon’s head down and cradled it between his shoulder and his neck. With his ear pressed against Obi-Wan’s skin, Qui-Gon could hear a faint, steady heartbeat. It was grounding. “I can’t explain it further,” Obi-Wan told him. His fingers skimmed over his hair, soothing and gentle. “You disappeared in the Force, just like you were supposed to, but—”

“But my Sith-made injury reeks of the dark side,” Qui-Gon finished bitterly. “I knew it. I knew there was a reason it wouldn’t heal.”

The fingers stilled for a moment, then resumed. “I don’t think you should jump to conclusions. You said you couldn’t sense it. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was something else, or something in that room …” Obi-Wan trailed off, at a loss for another explanation.

Qui-Gon said nothing. The Sith had almost killed him, _had_ killed him had it not been for Obi-Wan’s intervention, and now he carried that reminder of his unsubtle encounter with the dark side. That reminder kept him in pain. That reminder kept him bleeding. “Of course it was the Sith, Obi-Wan. He marked me, and I will be marked until the day I die. Again,” he added, feeling morbid. He felt Obi-Wan’s stifled gasp, and Qui-Gon could hear his heartbeat hasten. He wanted to hide, ashamed of the darkness he carried. Obi-Wan did not need to bear this burden, and Qui-Gon did not want his copper Knight to feel obligated to stay. “I-I think I’m just going to meditate for a while, then go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

Obi-Wan helped him sit back up, then glanced down at his hands. “I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” When Qui-Gon just nodded, Obi-Wan leaned over and pressed a kiss to his former Master’s temple. “Good night, Qui.”

“Good night, Obi-Wan.” He busied himself with clearing the teacups from the table so he did not have to see the poorly-concealed hurt on Obi-Wan’s face as he tugged on his boots and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A giant round of applause for my lovely beta Aryax, who made sure that this chapter made sense! Hooray! Thank you, my friend!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku opens the holocron with mixed results.

Copious tea was the only thing keeping Qui-Gon Jinn upright. He had slept poorly, cold and bereft of the comfort having Obi-Wan in his bed offered. Meditation had quickly derailed. He should have been able to sit and let his mind come to terms with having the dark side entrenched in his wound, but instead he had begun a spiral of disturbing theories and even blacker thoughts. The peace of the Room of a Thousand Fountains called to him with the dawn, so without even a bite of breakfast to anchor the tea, he found himself strolling under the canopy. The lush smell of greenery and the cacophony of birds announcing the morning grounded him.

“Good morning, Qui-Gon.” The Master turned his head to find Master Kyoga sidling up to him.

Qui-Gon nodded politely and offered a small smile. “Good morning, Kyoga.”

“What brings you to the garden at such an early hour?” the Weequay asked, clasping his hands behind his back and keeping Qui-Gon’s slow pace on the trail.

“I think better here,” replied Qui-Gon. “You know that.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“That it’s impossible to have a conversation with a Spirit Healer that doesn’t sound like a therapy session.”

Kyoga chuckled and shrugged helplessly. “My apologies. It comes with the territory. You do seem a bit agitated this morning, however, and if you wish to discuss it, I’m all ears.”

The desire to share his problems was almost automatic, but he was not ready to discuss what Obi-Wan had said in the dark of the sacred spire room. “I hurt a friend, unintentionally, and I need to make up for it, that’s all.”

Kyoga eyed him sideways, expressionless. “That’s all?”

“That’s all until our scheduled appointment,” retorted Qui-Gon.

“Would this friend be Obi-Wan?” The Weequay’s tone was irritatingly neutral.

“Yes,” came the terse reply.

“If you were in the wrong, then apologize.” Kyoga bared his teeth in a smile that was more knowing than Qui-Gon expected. “Sometimes, a little gift may help show your remorse.” He bowed his head formally. “I hope your day improves, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon only had time to raise a hand in parting before the Weequay wandered off the way they had come. If he had suspected that Kyoga knew his true feelings for Obi-Wan before even Qui-Gon had, well, he knew now. “Damnable Spirit Healers,” he grumbled with no little fondness. He spent the brief time before the morning’s first High Council meeting mulling over the appropriateness of tea as an apology gift, or if he needed to harvest a bit of honey to go with it.

*

Every High Councilor’s seat was occupied that afternoon for Tahl’s hearing. Qui-Gon winced inwardly as he took his seat. His lunch sat heavily in his stomach. This meeting would be a bellwether, and his dear friend stood at the heart of this storm. He hoped, for her sake and for the Order’s sake, that his peers would see things her way.

The door slid open, and Tahl strode into the chamber, stopping exactly in the middle of the decorative circle tiled on the floor. As her cloak shifted, Qui-Gon noticed she even wore her lightsaber over her long, embroidered Lore Keeper tabards. She was pulling no punches today; it would be impossible and unwise to doubt her standing as a Jedi Master today. Behind her, two paces to the left as a proper Padawan would, a slight Amaran girl followed. Her pointed ears swivelled and twitched nervously as she eyed the Masters surrounding her. She stopped behind Tahl and dropped her gaze, but Tahl turned and guided the girl to stand next to her. Outwardly, Tahl appeared calm and collected, but Qui-Gon could see a tightening around her mouth that suggested she was on the cusp of anger.

“Master Tahl,” Mace acknowledged as a formal start to the proceedings. Tahl inclined her head, while the Amaran almost bent double. “You have been called before us to explain your choice of Padawan.”

“I really don’t see what’s to explain,” Tahl retorted. “I wish to take Kyarri as my Padawan learner.”

“Sent to the Agri-Corps already, she was,” protested Yoda. “Past the age of apprenticeship, she has.”

“And I wasn’t in the Temple at the time of her birthday. How could I have claimed her from across the galaxy?” She pulled herself to her full height and squared her shoulders. “I fetched her so she can learn at my side, as the Force wills.”

“If you wanted this girl so badly, why not claim her sooner?” Saesee Tiin asked.

Tahl swivelled her head to stare at him with sightless eyes. “Because I had not encountered her sooner, Master Tiin. The majority of the Jedi spend their entire lives gallivanting around the galaxy, stopping at the Temple only for a change of clothing and briefings. How are we supposed to take Padawans, to continue the existence of the Jedi, if we never have the opportunity to meet and interact with every child in the crèche? How many children have we sent away simply because their intended master was not in-Temple for their choosing?” She turned her head back to face Mace and Yoda, her face determined and cool. “We take these children into our care as infants, raise them and teach them our ways, and then if no one claims them before they’ve even shown their potential and in most cases, hit puberty, we ship them off with a shrug and ‘sorry, it didn’t work out for you.’ I find this cruel and completely unacceptable for an Order that preaches compassion, sacrifice, and wisdom.”

“We have rules for a reason,” Mace began, but Qui-Gon rolled his eyes and cut him off.

“Mace, you have no standing in that argument. You took Anakin as your Padawan when he was nine, and not even Temple-trained.”

“Only after _you_ brought him here,” muttered Depa.

“Yes, I did bring him here, and with the intention of apprenticing him, and Mace claimed him instead. So there are at least two members of this Council who have no qualms about taking a Padawan against our own rules. This age limit on Padawans is unnecessary and, I agree with Master Tahl, harmful. This Council, comprised of most of the people sitting here today, sent Obi-Wan Kenobi away because he had not been chosen by his thirteenth birthday. I broke the rules by claiming him in the same way that Master Tahl is asking to do, and look what the Order has gained: a competent, powerful Jedi Knight who destroyed a Sith before his braid was cut and now has a lifetime of service ahead of him.” Qui-Gon leaned forward and fixed his gaze on Kyarri. He made his voice gentle. “What would you like to do in service of the Jedi Order, Initiate Kyarri?”

The girl’s furry, white-tipped ears twitched, and she peered up at Tahl, who gave her an encouraging smile. “I would like to be an Archivist, Master Jinn,” she said, her voice soft and small. Tahl subtly placed her hand on the back of Kyarri’s shoulder, and the Amaran drew herself up to appear larger. The bushy red fur along her jowls puffed up, and the white tip of her tail curled around her boot. She only came up to Tahl’s bellybutton. “I’m a polyglot. I speak and write in fifteen different languages, and speak eight more. I can work to gather knowledge for the Temple Archives.”

“And do you wish Master Tahl to be your Master?”

Kyarri nodded gravely, but when she spoke, an enthusiastic bark came before Basic. “Oh, yes, Master Jinn. I do.”

“Thank you, Kyarri,” Qui-Gon said. She offered him a shy smile that bared her sharp canines. Her whiskers trembled. “Twenty-three languages and we wanted to send her to the Agri-Corps because she had a birthday.”

“We could make an exception,” Mace said, and once again Qui-Gon interrupted. The little vein above the Korun’s eye was beginning to throb.

“Why? Why bother continuing to make these exceptions? We made an exception for Anakin, and we made an exception for Obi-Wan. We made an exception for Master Koth. We keep making exceptions to an arbitrary rule that we follow only for tradition’s sake, instead of for any logical purpose. I say we change the rule altogether, and our Initiates can be taken as Padawans until they reach their species’ age of majority. After that point, they can continue to learn and to teach, and even take the Trials if they wish. If they fail, then they would be treated as any other who has taken the Trials and failed; they would have the choice to stay with us here in the Temple, or to enter one of the service corps, or even leave us altogether.” Tahl was trying to hide a grin, but her lips kept twitching. The faces around the room held a mixture of thoughtful consideration, agreement, and flat-out exasperation. He needed one more push, and he had just what he needed. “If anything should change your mind, it should be the numbers we discussed previously, and how those numbers will impact the future of the Jedi Order.”

A short moment of confusion fell on the room before the Councilors caught his meaning. Heads were nodding all around, except for Mace, who looked exasperated with Qui-Gon, and Yoda, who simply looked tired. “Are there any here who oppose Master Tahl taking Initiate Kyarri as a Padawan learner?” asked Mace. No one raised a hand, and Adi Gallia was shaking her head. “Very well. Master Tahl, you have the Council’s blessing. Do you wish to choose Kyarri publicly, here?”

Tahl’s face split into a sly grin. “We’ve already completed our ceremony, Master Windu, but I appreciate the offer. My thanks to the Council for their eminent wisdom in this matter. Come, Padawan. Let’s go to the quartermaster and get you kitted out.” Both Tahl and Kyarri bowed. The Noorian swept the side of her cloak around her new Padawan, hugging Kyarri to her hip, and strode out the door without a backwards glance.

“She has been spending far too much time with you, Qui-Gon,” Mace grumbled. “She’s picked up your bad habits.”

Qui-Gon spread his hands and shrugged innocently. “She gets a Padawan, Kyarri gets a Master, and the Order gains one more Jedi. I don’t see a problem.”

The Korun leaned back in his chair and rested his temple on his fist. “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“I told you that you would regret putting me on the High Council,” Qui-Gon shot back with grin.

*

At the end of the meeting, which had only resulted in long arguments and sending for eighteen reference texts, Qui-Gon simply wanted to go stroll through the Room of a Thousand Fountains with a certain Knight. He needed to apologize, and having not had the opportunity to do so all day was weighing on his conscience. Obi-Wan had been trying to help, trying to connect with him, and he had just let him go with no explanation or reassurance of his place in Qui-Gon’s life. Worries about what Obi-Wan had been thinking without any word from Qui-Gon were starting to take over.

He was so deep in thought, the hand on his shoulder startled him. Dooku stood in front of him, eyebrows drawn together in concern. The rest of the room was empty, and the light was turning from late afternoon to dusk. “What has you so distracted? No, forget I asked. Come with me.”

Qui-Gon gratefully accepted the hand to help him out of the low chair and took a moment to resettle his tunics. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“The Archives.”

“Mace already sent the secretary to fetch the books we wanted.” Qui-Gon frowned. “Except by the look on your face, that’s not what we’re doing. Master, if you want to ask Master Nu out for dinner, she’s likely more amenable if I’m not there.”

Dooku narrowed his eyes at his former Padawan and sniffed. “You’re not as funny as you think you are. I’ve never needed help to inquire after Jocasta’s free time,” he countered archly. “I believe I’ve figured out how to open the holocron that Obi-Wan brought back with him, and the Master of Shadows has given me permission to try. I need another High Councilor to witness it, and frankly, I do not wish to attempt this alone.”

“I just hope you don’t need a blood donor,” replied Qui-Gon under his breath. “Very well. I will accompany you, and haul your ass out of there if the situation requires.”

“I need to channel the dark side,” Dooku told him in a quiet voice. “Just enough to open the holocron.”

Aghast, Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, Master. No! There must be another—”

“If there were another way, the Shadows would have done it already,” snapped Dooku. “I’d prefer to do this with someone who can … remind me of what I’m doing in case things go wrong.”

“And what if I fail, Dooku?” Qui-Gon hissed.

“That’s why I also invited Obi-Wan and his lightsaber. Are you coming?”

Horrified, Qui-Gon pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if he could just go home and pretend this conversation never happened. He nodded reluctantly. “I don’t seem to have much choice in the matter, but I want you to know that I think this is insane.”

“Hmm.” Dooku’s noncommittal sound was not at all comforting, and Qui-Gon matched the elder Jedi’s stride out the door with a bad feeling tickling the back of his neck.

They walked side by side in silence until they reached the entrance to the Archives. Obi-Wan was loitering next to the enormous archway until he spied Dooku and made a beeline for them. “I hope you know what you’re doing, grand-Master,” he said, not making eye contact with Qui-Gon, whose heart sank. He really had screwed up.

“I’m certain my brilliant grand-Padawan will lend a hand if things happen to go badly,” Dooku replied airily. “Come now, both of you. I need to sign into the vaults with Master Nu.”

The silver-haired man strode away in search of the Chief Librarian, leaving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan standing awkwardly in his wake. Swallowing a lump of nervousness, Qui-Gon turned his full attention to the Knight. “Obi-Wan, I owe you an apology. Again. I shouldn’t have let you leave like that last night, and I’m sorry. I was rattled, frankly. I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with things alone, and I guess I defaulted to that.”

Obi-Wan shrugged and offered a shy half-smile. “I was just hoping you would talk to me about it, that’s all. You have the right to have space and to be alone. I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted me to stay.”

Qui-Gon stepped closer into Obi-Wan’s space and bent his head. “It would have been better had you stayed. I slept terribly.”

“I did, too,” replied Obi-Wan, tilting his head up until his cheek brushed the barest edge of Qui-Gon’s beard. “I missed you.”

The wistful note of the younger man’s voice was enough for Qui-Gon to forget they were standing in the most public place in the Temple until a loud throat-clearing interrupted him. Dooku stood in front of them, arms crossed over his chest. “If the two of you are done canoodling, I have work to do,” he said, voice dry as dust. He turned without another word, moving quickly towards the turbolifts. Obi-Wan smothered a smile under the guise of smoothing his beard with a hand but could not hide the blush creeping up his cheekbones.

“After you.” Qui-Gon motioned with his hand. They caught up with Dooku, who was wearing the tiniest smirk, at the turbolifts.

*

 

The shielded room where the Jedi Shadows kept the Sith holocron found itself behind an unassuming door in the bowels of the Archives. The only indication that something of interest lay within was the retinal scan unit on the left side of the door. Dooku bent slightly at the waist first, pressing his brow against the curved metal until the scanner beeped its acceptance. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan followed suit. Qui-Gon blinked rapidly after the scan to relubricate his eyeball. Another chirp from the scanner echoed down the empty corridor, and Dooku punched in a lengthy access code with rapid stabs of his fingertip. The door opened with a hiss and a breeze, suggesting the room was pressurized and airtight.

“After you, Master,” Qui-Gon murmured. Dooku entered the artifact room without making a sound, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan followed. The air was cold and dry, and he was glad he had worn his cloak. The room was bare save for a clinical metal pedestal holding the black and gold pyramid. A thick feeling of malice permeated the room, and Qui-Gon shivered. Obi-Wan glanced at him, his face reflecting the same sentiment. Dooku took a steadying breath before approaching the holocron. While Dooku had told Qui-Gon that channelling a trickle of the dark side of the Force was necessary to open the holocron, actually witnessing his master do so was unnerving. Dooku’s face never changed, but in the Force Qui-Gon could feel waves of fear and anger emanating from the elder Jedi.

The vision memory of Tyrannus overwhelmed him; he lifted his hand to pluck at his master’s sleeve like child—to ask him to stop, to leave and never attempt this again. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to beg Dooku to cease this madness, but the holocron clicked and unfurled from the top like a mechanical flower. Dooku’s Force signature snapped back to normal, as if in surprise, as the holographic matrix within the holocron emitted the form of a woman, about a foot high. Her blonde hair draped in ringlets around her shoulders, and her heart-shaped face held high cheekbones and a full-lipped mouth. Her classically beautiful features warred with her troubled, amber eyes. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were practically at his hairline with surprise.

“ _Kuris zami nun?_ ” she hissed.

Dooku inclined his head to her respectfully. “ _Labintias. Zo jidai meistras, nuyak zeon,_ ” he replied, the twisted words of the Sith language foreign and horrible in his cultured voice. Qui-Gon tried not to startle at the unexpected sound; he had suspected that his Master had learned Sith languages to further his interest in the subject, but actually hearing him speak was deeply disturbing. He fought another flash of Darth Tyrannus and mentally stomped on it.

“A Jedi Master who speaks Sith?” replied the holocron in Basic, seeming surprised at this revelation. “I seem to be in the Jedi Temple.”

“You are, my lady, in the Archives. I apologize for not addressing you sooner, but I needed to be sure who I was going to speak with before I opened the holocron. Not many of your forebears would appreciate conversation with me.”

“And you think I will?” She crossed her arms under her breasts.

“I would only ask that you would consider my questions, my lady. I make no demands of you otherwise,” said Dooku.

“You know who I am, then, Master Jedi.”

Dooku nodded. “Of course, my lady. The name of Darth Zannah inspires fear among the young and old alike.”

Darth Zannah pursed her mouth. “You attempt to flatter me, Jedi,” she replied, with far less derision than Qui-Gon expected. “Say what you will. I will listen, out of respect for your good manners, but I promise nothing.”

“That is all I ask, my lady. There is a Sith Lord in this time—”

“Yes, I’ve encountered him,” interrupted Zannah, her voice heated.

“You have?”

“He was rude and demanding. He shows no respect for the ways of the Sith. He cared nothing for the teachings I offered because I was a woman. Tread carefully, Jedi, for he will destroy the galaxy until he is the last one living.” Her attention on Dooku suddenly shifted, and she turned her gaze to Qui-Gon and smiled. “You. I can feel the dark side in you, waiting.”

“You are mistaken,” Qui-Gon retorted automatically, and Zannah barked a laugh.

“No, not the dark side from you, but in you. Were you on the cusp of death, Jedi? Did someone heal you?”

A heavy dread clenched Qui-Gon’s heart. “Yes,” he whispered, so surprised that it slipped out before he could catch himself.

“Someone close to you. An apprentice? A friend? A lover?” She purred the latter, amber eyes sparkling with delight. “They healed you with their fear, Jedi. They dragged you back to the realm of the living, using the dark side of the Force, and they did it _wrong_. It will never heal, that wound. It will forever break itself apart—a reminder of the chaos and destruction that the dark side reveals.” Her malevolent eyes snapped to Obi-Wan, whose trembling hand was covering his mouth. His expression screamed horror and shame. Qui-Gon was frozen with this revelation, unable to think, unable to twitch a finger. Zannah was giggling hysterically now, never taking her eyes off Obi-Wan. “That one was a scared, angry little boy playing with the Force. He did it wrong, and the dark side will plague you for the rest of your days, Jedi! No matter what you do, the dark side will be there, waiting.”

The holocron suddenly closed, with the triangular sides folding up one by one with audible clicks. Zannah’s laughter echoed in the empty room, mocking and harsh. The deactivated holocron and sudden silence were like a slap in the face for Qui-Gon. He noticed Dooku’s troubled features, then both Qui-Gon and Dooku turned towards Obi-Wan, only to find him already missing. Dooku’s mouth was a harsh line. “Go find him, Qui-Gon. The sooner, the better.”

_Wrong. He healed me wrong._ A thread of accusation combined with Darth Zannah’s voice wove its way through his mind as he hurried blindly through the maze of the Archive sublevels. Obi-Wan was the reason his wound refused to heal, why he could not wield his lightsaber, why he sometimes woke up in the middle of the night with tortuous pain in his chest as his scar seemed to want to rip itself apart. The dark side kept him crippled. _He healed me wrong._

_But he healed me,_ came a louder voice. Qui-Gon stopped in the middle of the hall and sank to his knees when they refused to hold him up any longer. His scar throbbed in time with his heart. Obi-Wan had been an apprentice, barely ready for his Trials. A young man who had watched his Master impaled on a lightstaff, who had just killed the first Sith in centuries, had begged the Force to help him in his moment of desperation and adrenaline. He had poured his own life energy into Qui-Gon to keep him alive. Of course he had been scared. Of course he had been angry. Now he was scared again, frightened of this revelation and what it meant. Obi-Wan would not be remembering that he had saved Qui-Gon’s life. He would be blaming himself for ruining Qui-Gon’s life as a Jedi Master. Qui-Gon had years of Spirit Healing and the distance of time and perspective to come to terms with this revelation; Obi-Wan had only had a short while to even accept that Qui-Gon was permanently on the disabled list.

With an audible groan, not caring if anyone heard, Qui-Gon heaved himself off the floor and took off towards the ‘lifts. He had to find Obi-Wan, _now._ Where would he have gone? Not Qui-Gon’s quarters—not with this—and certainly not the barren shoebox he had been assigned to. The _Tortoise_ , perhaps? The Room of a Thousand Fountains was where Qui-Gon went for solace. The bond in his mind felt like it was shrouded in duracrete armour. _Where are you, Obi-Wan? Where did you used to go for solace?_

A sad smile quirked the corner of Qui-Gon’s mouth. He knew where Obi-Wan would be.

*

When Qui-Gon entered the Temple Map Room, the galaxy map was already activated. The darkness flowed like ink, while points of light and vibrant nebulae slowly rotated in the dance of the universe. He felt no presences here, but that did not mean the room was empty. Carefully, he took a few steps towards the centre of the room as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. There, kneeling in a meditative posture in the shadows, was Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon tried to focus on what part of the galaxy was in front of him, and was dismayed but unsurprised to recognize the blue jewel of Naboo orbiting his former apprentice.

Qui-Gon awkwardly lowered himself down to the floor facing the Knight, mimicking Obi-Wan’s posture. He kept his hands resting lightly on his thighs. “Obi-Wan,” he said quietly. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?” The harshness of Obi-Wan’s voice startled Qui-Gon. “Why would you bother?”

“Because I’m worried about you,” replied Qui-Gon, keeping his tone even and soft. “I know what the holocron said upset you.”

Obi-Wan could not hold back a sob. He bent double, touching his forehead to his knees. “I don’t understand why you’re not angry. All of your pain, your inability to do your work as a Jedi Master, your scar—they’re because of what I did to you.”

“Obi-Wan, look at me.” When his copper Knight refused to move, Qui-Gon pulled him up by the shoulders and cupped his face in his hands. “Look at me, Obi-Wan. I’m not angry. I’m alive, because of you, and only you. You saved my life, and that’s the only thing that matters. I have a scar, yes. I have a disabling injury, yes. I have pain, yes. But none of those things are your fault, my Obi-Wan. I don’t blame you for that, and you should not blame yourself.”

“But if I hadn’t been so angry, so afraid, I would have been able to heal you properly,” he rasped.

“If you hadn’t done what you did, I may have died anyway. It could be the only reason your efforts kept me alive was because you did use your fear and anger. You were desperate, and sometimes the Force hears our desperation. Without you, I would not have had the chance to change my life. I would not be able to keep Dooku in the Order. I would not be able make them sorry for ever asking me to sit on the High Council. I would not be able to keep my bees. I would not be able to sit here and hold you and tell you that I love you, my Obi-Wan, with every part of my soul and all of my expensive, cloned heart.”

That worked just the way he intended; Obi-Wan’s devastated expression, illuminated by starlight, suddenly contorted into the pained frown of someone trying to not laugh while crying. His shoulders shook, either with laughter or sobs, until his eyelids fluttered open. Even in the dim light of the stars spinning lazily around them, Qui-Gon could see the depths of the ocean in his grey eyes. “You love me?”

Qui-Gon’s smile was beatific. He wiped away the glistening tear tracks from Obi-Wan’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Yes, Obi-Wan. I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for longer than I expect I actually realize.”

“Oh,” replied Obi-Wan, a little dreamily. “I’m so glad.” He leaned forward, careful to not knock Qui-Gon over, and pressed his lips against Qui-Gon’s. When he pulled back, the salt of his tears on Qui-Gon’s tongue made his heart ache. “I love you. I have for a long time.”

As Qui-Gon reached up and rested his hand on the side of Obi-Wan’s neck, he did what fear had kept him from doing since the Knight had walked back into his life. He collapsed the impenetrable shields on his end of the training bond and allowed Obi-Wan to experience the depth of his love. Obi-Wan’s mouth made a little “O” and in Qui-Gon’s mind, he could feel a wall crumbling. From Obi-Wan’s side of the bond, he had the impression of warm sun and blue skies, of soft skin and green grass, of an ocean so deep it had no bottom. Obi-Wan’s voice whispered inside his skull. _Hi._

_It’s been a long time since we did this._

_It was never like this._ Obi-Wan pushed himself off his knees and held out his arms to help Qui-Gon up off the floor. _Take me home, Qui. Please._

Qui-Gon wrapped one arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, snugging him close to his side, and pressed a kiss to his temple. _Home it is, my Obi-Wan._

They walked slowly through the halls without letting go of each other. Qui-Gon steered them along less popular routes, wanting to avoid prying eyes and gossips. He managed to reach his quarters with only droids as witnesses and punched in his door code with relief. He had to step away from Obi-Wan to enter, so he grabbed the Knight’s hand and drew him inside.

Obi-Wan’s haggard face had been mostly concealed by the darkness of the Map Room, but the lights of Qui-Gon’s rooms highlighted his drooping, red-rimmed eyes and downturned mouth. _To bed with you,_ Qui-Gon told him, unwilling to break the spell of this fascinating bond by speaking aloud. Obi-Wan’s head jerked up, ready to protest, but Qui-Gon squeezed his hand. _Just to sleep, love._

_I can’t do much else,_ retorted Obi-Wan wryly. A huge yawn cracked his jaw. Qui-Gon tugged on his hand again and led him into the bedroom, then backed him up until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Obi-Wan promptly sat down, his eyes closing. _I’ll just sleep like this._

_I don’t think so,_ replied Qui-Gon with a chuckle. Carefully, he helped a half-awake Obi-Wan remove his leather jacket and shirt and tossed the garments on the chair in the corner. When he knelt down to tug off Obi-Wan’s boots, his scar protested, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it.

_I didn’t realize it hurt you so much to do such a simple task,_ Obi-Wan sent sleepily. _I’m sorry_.

Qui-Gon freed Obi-Wan’s other foot and set the boots aside. He helped himself up using the edge of the bed and kissed the top of his copper Knight’s head. _Don’t be sorry. Next time you can help me with my boots._ With a little laugh, Obi-Wan nodded and crawled under the bedcovers. The sight of his hair fanned against the white fabric of the pillowcase caught Qui-Gon’s heart in his throat. _Come sleep with me, Qui._

He did not need to be asked twice. Qui-Gon divested himself of everything but his leggings, leaving his clothes in an undignified pile on the floor, and slid between the sheets. Obi-Wan grabbed Qui-Gon’s long arm, draped it across his angular hip, and sighed contentedly. Qui-Gon counted three breaths before Obi-Wan was still, fast asleep. A smile crept across Qui-Gon’s face and stayed there even after he, too, closed his eyes and dreamed of stars reflected on the ocean’s surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my wonderful beta, Aryax, who is all that is kind in this world.
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for the angst of the last one? *grins hopefully*


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn follows night to reveal the shape of things to come.

The dim orange light of early Coruscanti dawn roused Qui-Gon. He found himself pleasantly trapped under Obi-Wan, who had snuggled onto his shoulder and thrown a possessive arm over Qui-Gon’s belly. The trimmed copper beard tickled the sensitive skin just above his armpit. Qui-Gon tightened his arm around Obi-Wan’s back and trailed his fingertips lightly up and down his spine. The prickling of the beard hairs intensified as Obi-Wan smiled into his flesh. “You can do that forever,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“I intend to,” Qui-Gon replied. Obi-Wan was tracing a circle with his thumb over Qui-Gon’s exposed hip, and Qui-Gon jerked out of reflex. “Sorry, love. I’m _very_ ticklish.”

“I had no idea. Where?” Lifting his head and stilling the movement of his thumb, Obi-Wan offered an apologetic smile.

“Everywhere. Just … apply more pressure.”

Obi-Wan ran the palm of his hand up from Qui-Gon’s hip to his shoulder, and Qui-Gon sighed contentedly. “Perfect.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Obi-Wan’s skin against his. The planes of Obi-Wan’s back were warm and unfamiliar, but he wanted more. “Come here,” he whispered.

Happy to oblige, Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbow so he could lean his head over Qui-Gon’s. “Yes?” he asked, his face a mask of innocence marred only by the mischief in his eyes. “What would you like?”

“I would like you,” replied Qui-Gon with a grin. Obi-Wan dipped his head and kissed Qui-Gon softly.

“That’s not very specific,” he said with a poorly concealed smile. “I think I need you to be more precise in your request.”

“Do I?” Qui-Gon slipped his hands under the waistband of Obi-Wan’s leggings and danced his fingertips over his hipbones. At the unexpected touch, Obi-Wan let his forehead fall to the pillow next to Qui-Gon’s head and made a tiny strangled noise. He turned his head and kissed his way up his copper Knight’s neck. “Then let me be clear. I want you, my love, and we are wearing too much clothing for what I have in mind.”

Obi-Wan bent his head to meet Qui-Gon’s and captured his lips with a deep kiss. When they parted, Obi-Wan brought his hand to cup Qui-Gon’s cheek. “You said you wanted to go slow. A lot has happened in the past few days, Qui. Talk to me.”

_I was worried that you felt less strongly for me than I did for you,_ Qui-Gon admitted. It was easier to confess without speaking the words aloud.

The expression on Obi-Wan’s face flitted from surprise and regret to amused exasperation. “Qui-Gon Jinn, this is _me_ you are talking about. I literally left the Jedi Order to fight a war with child soldiers. I turned a one-year undercover operation into four. Surely you’ve figured out by now that I don’t do anything _half-assed_ , and that includes loving you.” His voice filled Qui-Gon’s mind, rich and clipped just like his spoken words. _It’s you, Qui, and only you. I want no other, and I will never want anyone but you. If I can’t describe my feelings for you, then feel them. Know I’m showing you my heart._

In that moment, that endless ocean was there, and Qui-Gon was struck with the realization of what he was seeing. The ocean was part of Obi-Wan, just as the impressions of sun-warmed skin and lush grass, but the salt water with no bottom held affection, respect, want, trust, loyalty—love. That ocean was love for Qui-Gon. He tightened his grip on Obi-Wan, pressing him against his chest, scar be damned. “Oh, my Obi-Wan. Can you forgive me for ever doubting it?”

“You want me to forgive you for having feelings and being an actual human being?” Obi-Wan teased, planting a kiss on Qui-Gon’s clavicle. “Okay. Done.”

“I love you,” said Qui-Gon, savouring the words and the contented, slow smile that they brought to Obi-Wan’s face. “And I don’t want to go slow anymore, if that’s all right by you.”

In response, Obi-Wan snaked his hand down to Qui-Gon’s leggings and deliberately brushed against his erection. “I thought you’d never ask,” he replied. The predatory smile was back. Obi-Wan draped himself along Qui-Gon’s side, careful to keep away from the scar, and stopped any further conversation with heated kisses and nimble fingers sliding under fabric.

*

The shrill beeping of Qui-Gon’s comm woke them. Sunlight was streaming through the window. Obi-Wan ground out some decidedly vile invectives into Qui-Gon’s neck that sounded Huttese. Wincing at the repetitive, insistent tone, Qui-Gon called the comm to his hand with the Force and shushed his grumbling lover with a gentle finger over Obi-Wan’s lips. “Jinn here.”

“It’s Mace. There’s a meeting you need to be in,” the Korun Master told him.

Putting his finger against Obi-Wan’s mouth had been a mistake; the Knight was teasing it with his tongue and teeth. Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut to keep his brain concentrating on his conversation. “About what?” Closing his eyes also had been a mistake. Obi-Wan had his entire digit in his mouth and was swirling his tongue around the base.

“Today is the hearing in the Senate, and we have some prep to do. Somehow everyone’s schedule is full, which leaves you to be my backup.” Mace, as usual, sounded irritable.

Qui-Gon scrunched his face in an attempt to keep his mind where it belonged. “What time?” Suction had now been applied, and he gritted his teeth to stop any noise from escaping.

“Meet me at landing platform jenth-eight in an hour.”

“Acknowledged. Jinn out.” As soon as the comm was cut, Qui-Gon tossed the unit over his shoulder and all but pounced on Obi-Wan, who wore a devilish smirk. He lay on top of the younger man and dipped his head to whisper in his ear. “You’re going to pay for distracting me like that.”

Obi-Wan’s hands darted under the blankets and cupped Qui-Gon’s buttocks. He pulled Qui-Gon closer as he lifted his hips. “I think distracting you has officially become my new favourite pastime,” replied Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon stifled a groan.

“You’re going to pay for that because now I need to shower and get dressed and have breakfast and a cup of tea and I need to walk all the way across the Temple to meet Mace before I’m late.” Qui-Gon kissed his way up Obi-Wan’s neck, stopping at the hollow beneath his jaw to give it proper attention, and slowly slid his hips in a tiny circle. “I’m going to leave you wanting all day with nothing to do but think about me.”

With a moan that became a laugh, Obi-Wan removed his hands and flopped them down on the bed. “I’m sorry to say, my love, but I have other things to do today than lie here and pine for you.” He stole a kiss, long and deep. Grinning, he wriggled out from beneath Qui-Gon and searched for his leggings.

“Like what?” retorted Qui-Gon as he stretched out on his side, propping his head in one hand and enjoying the view of his lover hunting for his clothes. His scar ached a little this morning, but he was able to ignore it in favour of the tableau.

“Coming back from the MIA list is not as easy as you’d think,” Obi-Wan said as he sniffed his shirt and shrugged. “I still need to get updated cards from the Identity Control Office, for which I need three notarized copies of my reinstatement papers from the High Council and a letter from the bursar indicating my continued engagement with the Jedi Order.” With a triumphant look, he pulled his leggings out from under the corner of the bedspread and tugged them on. “Did you know we only have one notary for the entire Order? And she takes three hour lunchbreaks.”

“What will you do this afternoon, then?” laughed Qui-Gon.

“I’m helping Knight Reus with her Initiate Jar’Kai class,” Obi-Wan admitted with a soft blush.

“That’s why your lightsaber was in a different spot the other day. I was wondering. You never were that interested in Jar’Kai when you were an apprentice. Why the sudden interest?”

The blush intensified, just as Qui-Gon had predicted. Obi-Wan covered it by pulling his shirt over his head. “I’ve gone almost four years with only katas and sparring in a cargo bay. It never hurts to learn new things,” he replied primly.

“It’s always good to brush up on your future Padawan’s ‘saber style. Makes things easier in the long run,” confided Qui-Gon with a sly smile, which earned him his own pair of leggings tossed at his face.

*

For all his joking, leaving Obi-Wan had been more difficult than he had anticipated. An unabashed parting kiss had left him a little breathless and grateful for the colder than usual shower he had taken. As he strode through the Temple corridors on the way to the landing platform, he could feel Obi-Wan’s pleased presence in his mind. A smile crept over his face, finally able to enjoy their secret connection again. A group of younglings being herded by their crèchemaster passed him, and every single one of them beamed at him upon seeing his contented face. “Good morning, Master Qui-Gon!” they chorused, and his smile widened.

“Good morning, little ones,” he replied. “Are you off to do something fun today?”

“We’re going swimming!” A tiny Rodian squealed. “Padawan Skywalker is going to help!”

“Yes, we are, and yes, he is. Come along, now.” The crèchemaster made hurrying motions with his paws and nodded to Qui-Gon as he herded his charges down the hall. Qui-Gon’s light mood stayed with him even as he sidled up to Mace Windu on the landing platform. The Korun glared at him.

“We are about to defend the Jedi Order against accusations of treason. Feel free to look a little more appropriately grim,” snapped Mace.

“Good morning to you, too,” Qui-Gon replied mildly. “Why am I out here at what an outside observer would conclude to be far too early to make it to the Senate dome?”

Before Mace could answer, a small shuttle normally used to ferry diplomats around the Senate district settled onto the landing pad. The door slid open in invitation. “Come on,” urged Mace as he raised his hood and stepped into the transport. Qui-Gon followed his lead, hood included, and ducked under the low door.

A young Corellian woman wearing a Senatorial page uniform greeted them once they boarded. “Welcome, Masters. If I may escort you to your seats?” She bowed her head and held her hand palm-up to the right. At Mace’s silent nod, the woman straightened and led them into the tiny seating area where another cloaked figure occupied a chair. “Should you have need of anything, please do not hesitate to use the call button.”

The page palmed the door closed after her, and Mace flipped back his hood. “This is a very bad idea, you know.”

The seated figure chuckled humourlessly and carefully removed the deep cowl. Bail Organa of Alderaan motioned for the pair to join him. “Cloning an army in the name of the Republic was a very bad idea. Us meeting secretly before an inquiry meeting is hardly worse,” he retorted. “Good morning, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head politely. He had met the Senator on a few formal occasions, liked him as much as you could like an honest but savvy politician, but Qui-Gon was not as familiar with him as Mace seemed to be. “To be fair, the Order was not behind the clones,” Qui-Gon offered as he took his seat.

“Really? So a Jedi Master of the name Sifo-Dyas wasn’t responsible for making a transaction with the Kaminoans?” Bail’s face was impenetrable, and Qui-Gon could not even discern the man’s feelings in the Force. _No wonder he’s a Senator._

“Where did you get that information, Bail?” demanded Mace.

To his credit, Bail’s hesitation would not have been noticed by any but the most observant. “I shouldn’t say.”

“Shouldn’t, or won’t?” Mace retorted. “How am I to defend the Jedi if I don’t have all the information?”

“So it’s true?” Bail frowned, now, the edges of his lips distorting his well-groomed goatee. “Are you kriffing kidding me, Mace? How am I supposed to help you if this bantha-shite story is actually true?!”

“It’s not true,” interjected Qui-Gon. The two men stared at him in disbelief. “Not entirely. Master Sifo-Dyas was most likely compelled to do what he did, and he certainly did not do it with the authority or blessing of the High Council.”

“Oh, good, so you had a rogue Jedi Master ordering custom soldiers all on his own.” Bail rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “That’s so much better.”

Mace leaned towards Bail. “Who gave you the information?”

The Senator pressed his lips together in frustration for a second before sighing. “Someone in the Chancellor’s office. It came anonymously, but my secretary did a bit of code slicing to trace it back to a source.”

Pressing himself back into his chair, Mace exchanged a glance with Qui-Gon. “Damn,” he breathed. “We’re going to lose, Qui-Gon. He’s already playing us.”

Qui-Gon snorted, which garnered Bail’s full attention. “He always was, Mace. This time we know about it, so let’s start playing our hand.”

“Are you two going to tell me what’s going on, or is this one of those things I don’t want to know about?” Bail demanded with a pointed look at the Korun.

“I’m calling in all my favours, Bail,” Mace replied softly. “All eight and a half.”

A grimace stole across the Senator’s features. “How do I owe you half a favour?”

“Malastare,” was the reply, complete with a toothy grin. Bail responded with a deep sigh that held the kind of significance that intrigued Qui-Gon. There was no way he was ever going to get Mace to tell him that story, if the look on the Senator’s face was any indication.

“Fair enough. I would have rounded up to two-thirds of a favour. I won’t do anything that will get my ass fired, though. Breha would murder me.”

“You’re going to go through with this inquiry. Try to keep them from dismantling the Order. Who else is sitting?” Mace asked.

“Senator Yarua—”

“He’s quietly sympathetic to the Jedi, and has been for almost a century,” interrupted Qui-Gon, and Bail nodded in agreement.

“And Senator Lott Dod of Neimoidia.”

“Random selection, my ass,” Mace spat. “There is not a single other Senator more publicly anti-Jedi than Dod.”

Lifting a single shoulder in a shrug, Bail quirked his mouth sideways. “I suspect Yarua pulled some strings to get onto this inquiry, and everyone tolerates strings pulled by the very large Wookiee because he doesn’t do it very often. It would be easy enough to outvote Dod, but you’d have to make a convincing case for Yarua. He may be sympathetic, but he’s no pushover.” Bail tapped his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “What _else_ am I supposed to be doing here, Mace?”

“At the end of this inquiry, you table a new piece of legislation called the Jedi Neutrality Act.” Both Bail’s eyebrows lifted, but motioned for Mace to continue. Qui-Gon kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Bail’s body language. “You will call for the end of funding for the Jedi Order by the Galactic Republic in response to the information uncovered by the inquiry. For the Jedi to truly serve the people of the Republic, they must no longer be beholden to the obligations tied to money. The Jedi must regain their position as a neutral body.”

“I’m certain I just told you to keep me employed,” Bail stated flatly. He leaned forward, almost sliding off the seat of his chair. “If I do as you ask, it will be the end of my career. I’ll be recalled before I even get out of the session. Why would you ask me this?”

Mace steepled his fingers and rested his lips against his index fingers. “I don’t know if I can tell you everything. The less you know, the safer you’ll be. Suffice it to say we want to know what the reaction to this proposal will be.” From the depths of his robe pocket, he pulled out a datapad and held it out to Bail. “This is the proposal. Share it with no one. As soon as the inquiry closes, submit it to the Senate. Call an emergency session if you need to.”

Bail’s eyes instantly began scanning the text on the datapad, and his face stilled. “While I agree with the intent behind this, if not the practicality of it, there’s no way it will pass the Senate.”

“It doesn’t have to,” replied Mace. “It just needs to be introduced. Publicly.”

The troubled look on Bail Organa’s face spoke volumes as the page’s voice came over the intercom and announced their approach to the Senate dome. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mace,” he said softly.

Mace raised an eyebrow. “You and me both.”

*

After the second hour of waiting outside the inquiry’s meeting room, Qui-Gon decided Mace could comm him if needed. His legs needed a stretch. The Senate dome, despite its massive size, was always busy; the efficient comings and goings of aides, pages, secretaries, and messengers reminded him of his bees. It was not quite time for midmeal, so Qui-Gon wandered the main halls wearing his serene Jedi Master face. _For a High Councilor of the Jedi, you seem awfully bored._ Obi-Wan’s voice was soft in his mind, as though his copper Knight were whispering into his ear from behind.

_You must be waiting for the notary if you have time to nag me about my idle state,_ replied Qui-Gon. _There’s not much to be done in the Senate dome at the moment._

_Maybe now is the perfect time to sniff out a home for the clones,_ Obi-Wan suggested. _Go find a friendly face or two._

_Perhaps I will do just that, love. I’ll let you know when I’m coming home._ He sensed contentment from the other side of the bond, and the feeling of having Obi-Wan leaning over his shoulder subsided. At the next map terminal, Qui-Gon checked his target against his current position and smiled to himself.

The door to Padmé Amidala’s office slid open as soon as he pressed the chime, and he found himself looking down at a very familiar face, missing the ceremonial makeup of the Queen of Naboo. “Good morning, Sabé,” he greeted her. The handmaiden, to her credit, did not let the surprise he could feel in the Force cross her face.

“Master Jinn!” replied Sabé. “It is good to see you.” She backed into the office, allowing him entry. “To what do we owe the honour of your visit?”

Their voices were muffled by the dense red carpet of the entryway. “I was hoping that the Senator would grant me a brief audience about a matter of some urgency.”

Sabé’s eyes flicked to the closed door behind Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “I will ask, Master Jinn.” The handmaiden brushed her hands down the front of her maroon velvet tunic and slipped past him. She disappeared into the closed office for a few minutes, and returned accompanied by Padmé herself.

Qui-Gon bowed as deeply as his scar would allow. “Senator Amidala, it is truly wonderful to see you again.”

A wide smile broke out on the young woman’s face. “Master Qui-Gon, what an unexpected surprise! Sabé tells me you’re here about something important.”

“Yes, Senator. It concerns the clones.” The smile faded, and Padmé motioned towards her office.

“Then sit, please. I’ll have midmeal brought up for us, and we shall have a serious discussion.” He followed Padmé into the large, circular room with one wall completely replaced with transparisteel. The Coruscant traffic was slow-moving in the distance, far enough away to become a blurry grid of specks because of the security perimeter around the Senate dome. Qui-Gon folded himself into an overstuffed, low-backed upholstered chair while Padmé eased herself into her own seat with a practiced fluff of her long, layered green skirts. She wore her hair simply today, braided around her ears. “First off, Master Qui-Gon, I would like to know exactly how the Jedi were involved with the creation of the clones. I want to hear it from you, a man I consider a friend, rather than the whispers flying around this place.”

“Of course, Senator. There was a Jedi responsible for ordering the clones, a Master Sifo-Dyas, who has since died. I believe, as does the Council, that he was compelled to do so by the Sith.”

A furrow appeared between her delicate brows. “The same one you and Knight Kenobi killed on Naboo?”

“Him, or his master,” replied Qui-Gon. “The Kaminoans told me that the order was for a complete military force capable of protecting the Republic.”

“Protecting the Republic from _what?_ ” she demanded. “We have no standing military, and for good reason!”

“I’m aware, Senator. I halted the production of any more clones, but there are currently twenty thousand clones of varying ages still on Kamino. Two of them are in the Temple.”

Her dark brown eyes narrowed at him. The steely glare she fixed upon him would have made any less-seasoned diplomat cringe. “What does the Jedi Order intend to do with these clones, since they are the ones responsible for their creation?”

“I intend on petitioning for their entry into the Republic as a nomadic group,” answered Qui-Gon, his serious expression matching hers. “They currently have no rights; the Kaminoans consider them merchandise.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Padmé retorted with a shake of her head.

“It is, and the risk that the Kaminoans will destroy their merchandise to protect their own interests is real. They can’t afford to have clones suddenly gain Republic rights and freedoms, because it puts their entire operations at risk of never making another credit.” Sabé entered the room silently, bearing a large tray with two covered dishes. The Senator moved a stack of datapads from one edge of the desk to the other to clear a space for the tray. The handmaiden looked questioningly at her mistress, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and left.

Padmé made no move to uncover her meal. “So what is it, exactly, that you wish to ask of me, Master Jinn?”

“I would humbly ask the Senator of Naboo to allow the clones of Kamino a place on her planet. Their petition to join the Republic would be impossible to refuse if they are legally taking shelter and welcomed on a Republic world.”

Silence answered him for a moment. Padmé said nothing as she rose and uncovered both plates, then set one down in front of him, then another in front of her desk chair. The fragrance of herbed meat and roasted vegetables filled the air. Qui-Gon busied himself with placing his cloth napkin in his lap as he waited for Padmé to speak. She stared at her meal for another second, then sighed. “You would ask much of me.”

“I ask you only because I know of your compassion and kindness, and that of the Naboo. I ask you because I know the people of Naboo suffered in the invasion, and that perhaps welcoming a group of strong, disciplined people would assist your rebuilding efforts. Perhaps embracing a disenfranchised culture of warriors looking for a home to protect would let your people feel safe on their own planet again.”

A twist to Padmé’s mouth appeared, a dainty grimace. “I think I’m finally seeing the famous diplomat Qui-Gon Jinn in action.”

“Surely our previous adventures involved sufficient action, Senator,” Qui-Gon responded wryly.

“Our previous adventures didn’t involve much diplomacy,” she replied. “Lightsabers and irresponsible gambling, certainly, but less diplomacy on your part than you might remember.”

“It was eventful,” mused Qui-Gon. “Too eventful for my taste.”

Padmé offered him a sympathetic glance that flicked down to his chest and back up to his face. “I can’t make any promises about settling the clones. That’s not my purview. All I can do is make the recommendation to the Queen and the Gungans.”

“And will you? Make the recommendation?”

“I can’t promise anything yet.” Her voice softened. “I will tell you this: Naboo is hurting, just as you say. The invasion caused far more damage that we initially believed—not just in terms of property damage, but damage to my people. They fear another invasion. They no longer fully trust the mechanisms of the Republic to protect them, even with the Chancellor being one of them. I can see this going one of two ways: the clones are embraced as new citizens, a group to help protect and rebuild, or my people will fear them as another invasion and reject their settlement outright.

“I want to meet these clones. I can make no recommendations without at least talking to them.” She took a sip from her cup of hot caff and set it down on the desk with a muted click. “I do hold significant sway on my homeworld, and if I like what I hear from these clones, I will do what I can to help them.”

“Of course, Senator. That can easily be arranged. Would you prefer to come to the Temple, or to have Rex and Cody meet you here?”

A gleam in her eye appeared, but her neutral expression did not change. “I would be happy for a tour of the Jedi Temple, Master Jinn, and the chance to greet a few old friends who I have not seen since the invasion.”

“I would gladly offer to play tourguide,” he offered graciously. “I’m sure both Obi-Wan and Anakin would welcome a visit.”

“Excellent. Schedule it with Sabé for tomorrow before you leave the dome today,” she instructed, then her face lit up with a genuine smile. “Now, eat your lunch, and tell me what you have been doing in these years since you left Theed.”

Qui-Gon speared a piece of meat with his fork, popped it in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed and chuckled. “I’ve been doing what I was told.”

An undignified snort met his statement. “And what could possibly be that important that you actually followed orders?”

“Keeping bees, Senator,” he replied with a grin. Before she could reply, Sabé hurried into the room. The handmaiden bent over Padmé’s shoulder to whisper in her ear and waited for Padmé’s response—a single nod. There was barely time for Sabé to return to the door before a figure stepped into the office. Qui-Gon fought to swallow the food in his mouth; all the saliva had dried the moment he recognized Sheev Palpatine’s beaked nose.

He stood, as protocol demanded, and he thanked muscle memory for not failing him. Behind her desk, Padmé stood as well, then rounded the furniture to greet the Chancellor with a warm handshake. “Chancellor!” she said, the surprise evident in her voice. “To what do we owe this unexpected honour?”

Palpatine, that master of deception, chuckled with a gentle smile. “Oh, surely I do not require a reason to visit one of the Senate’s rising stars?” he teased even as his eyes lit upon Qui-Gon. “But truly, I was hoping to catch Master Jinn before he returned to the Temple.”

Qui-Gon stepped forward and inclined his head in greeting. In the Force, he felt nothing but an older man, good-natured and just; every neuron in his brain was screaming at the wrongness of it. He checked his mental shields, then shored them up until they were duracrete. He smiled slightly. “I am here to serve,” replied Qui-Gon, taking refuge in politeness.

“I fear I have not had the chance to congratulate you on taking your seat upon the High Council, Master Jinn. You no longer grace the halls of the Senate dome as often as you once did,” said Palpatine. “Indeed, the diplomatic talents of the great Qui-Gon Jinn have been sorely missed.”

“I have been serving the Order in different capacities since my injuries on Naboo,” Qui-Gon told him, regretting having to mention Naboo. There was no way to not talk to him, not without looking suspicious, and not with Padmé and Sabé as witnesses.

Palpatine nodded sympathetically. “Yes, a terrible thing. It was lucky your apprentice was there for you.” At the mention of Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon had to stop himself from clenching his teeth. “I’ve heard he’s recently returned to the Temple after a long mission. How is our hero of Naboo, Knight Kenobi?”

“He has returned to us safely,” was all Qui-Gon could manage to say.

“Good, good. I must say, he piqued my interest. A Padawan learner, defeating a Sith singlehandedly, then healing his Master from the brink of death? A fascinating tale of a young Jedi destined for greatness. Do let him know that I would love to see him at the next diplomatic gala.”

“Of course, Chancellor.”

Palpatine settled his hands against his robes of office. “Now, there’s one more thing. I realize the inquiry is currently still in session, but I wish to meet these clones that you’ve brought back from Kamino, Master Jinn.”

“I am going to meet them tomorrow, Chancellor,” Padmé replied. “I would be happy to document it for your perusal.”

The spark of irritation in Palpatine’s eyes would have been missed by anyone not looking for it. His voice remained pleasant, with a patronizing hint. “Oh, my dear, what a generous offer. I would not require it, but I would happily read your thoughts on the matter. However, I still wish to meet with them personally. This matter is a serious one, and I need all available information to meet this issue head on.”

The thought of Rex and Cody in the same room as Palpatine gave Qui-Gon a shiver that he suppressed forcefully. Instead, he nodded. “Of course, Chancellor. I shall arrange it with your office myself.”

An oily smile crossed Palpatine’s pale face. “Excellent. Thank you, Master Jinn, for your attention to this matter. Please tell Master Windu that I’m certain this will all be cleared up shortly.” He turned to Padmé and gave her the barest incline of his head. “Senator Amidala, good day.”

Palpatine spun on his heel and left with no further ceremony. As though in a fog, Qui-Gon made his excuses to Padmé, caught a shuttle back to the Temple, and collapsed onto his own couch. His hand went to loosen the silk tunics on his chest. The only thing he saw before his eyes closed was bright red blood smeared over his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper thank you to my wonderful beta Aryax, whose ideas are wonderful and praise unfettered.
> 
> I had a rather jarring week, as I suspect many of you have as well, so please use this chapter to take your mind off of things, even for just a little while. If it makes anyone feel better, then I feel better, too. I want each and every one of you, my delightful, supportive readers, to know that I appreciate you. Yes, you in the back. That includes you. <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, the first part of this chapter deals with blood, in case you'd like to skip it.

Someone was shouting at him. Whoever it was, they sounded upset. Qui-Gon cracked open his eyelid to find a frantic Obi-Wan staring down at him. “Stop yelling,” he croaked. Obi-Wan blew out a frustrated, relieved breath, and Qui-Gon tried to sit up.

That was a mistake. Blinding pain in his chest made him cry out, and he barely felt the gentle press of Obi-Wan’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him back into the cushion of the couch. Tears of agony slipped from the corners of his eyes. “Gods, Qui, what happened to you?” demanded the Knight, his voice full of worry.

Speaking was out of the question. The agony that every movement brought to the scar was overwhelming, and even if he remained perfectly still, it felt as though someone were stabbing him with a serrated knife. _There’s a small bottle of white tablets in the ‘fresher cabinet. Bring me three._

His eyes were closed, but he could feel Obi-Wan’s hesitation. _Now. Please._ A moment passed, and he heard the clatter of a plastic bottle against the sink and Obi-Wan’s muffled curse before the three tablets were pressed into the palm of his hand. _No, put them on my tongue, one at a time. I can’t lift my arm._

“Okay,” Obi-Wan whispered. He plucked the tablets from Qui-Gon’s hand and carefully set one on the tip of Qui-Gon’s tongue. Dry-swallowing pain medication while lying flat on his back was not his preferred method, but he had done it enough times in the past that he managed to choke down all three tablets without them getting stuck in his throat. “I’m calling Abella.”

_No, I’m fine. I just need the meds to kick in._ The last thing he wanted was a trip to the Halls of Healing, or to have his Healer chitter at him for an hour.

“Qui, you are completely covered in blood. It looks like you’ve spent your day in a slaughterhouse,” Obi-Wan told him. The muted panic in his voice was palpable. “What the hell happened to you?”

_I—_ Before he could continue, Qui-Gon had to think about the answer. He had been in Amidala’s office, having lunch and discussing the clones, and then … _It was Palpatine. He came to see me while I was talking with Senator Amidala. I don’t remember anything after he left. Somehow I managed to get here._

“Why are you _bleeding?_ ” asked Obi-Wan insistently. “Was there a confrontation?”

_No. He talked, I said as little as possible, then he left. Obviously my scar broke open, but I don’t know why._ The waves of concern and no little confusion he could sense over the bond hurt him almost as much as the stabbing pain every time he took a breath. _I’ll live, Obi-Wan. I should be able to at least sit up long enough to change my clothes in about twenty minutes. Can you check to see if the bleeding’s stopped?_

The hesitation before Obi-Wan’s reply made him peek through his lashes again to watch the younger Jedi. Obi-Wan’s gaze kept moving from Qui-Gon’s face to what must have been a disgusting sight of blood-soaked tunics. “This isn’t the first time this has happened,” he said softly. “Isn’t it?”

_It’s been a while, honestly, but no. It’s not the first time. I’ll have to check the damage, but I’d wager it’s never been this bad before._

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to get Abella?” he asked again. “Are you in shock?”

_Wait and see, Obi-Wan. If I pass out again, go get her. If the bleeding doesn’t stop, or starts again, go get her._ He let his eyelids close, which was a mistake; the darkness led him only to focus more on the pain breathing caused. _I could use a distraction while you do this._

That earned him a surprised noise from his lover, but Obi-Wan had done this before on a few missions where Qui-Gon had been injured while away from medical facilities. He listened to Obi-Wan’s retreating footsteps, and hummed in approval when Obi-Wan returned with a blanket from the closet and the medkit from the ‘fresher. Carefully, Obi-Wan draped the soft wool blanket over Qui-Gon’s lower half. “Okay, ready?”

_As I’ll ever be_ , replied Qui-Gon. Twenty minutes was starting to feel like an eternity. He gritted his teeth, preparing himself for what surely would be a fresh swell of pain, and tried his best to calm his mind into a meditative state.

Obi-Wan began to sing. The tune was so familiar, like an old childhood friend, that Qui-Gon smiled despite the effort it took. There may have been words, once, but this gentle song that the youngest child learned in the crèche for the first lesson on meditation was hummed by the teacher. Qui-Gon let the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice wash over him. His mind answered, almost automatically, by deepening his meditative state. The pain was still there, but he could ignore it enough to allow Obi-Wan to do his work. The feel of warm saline soaking his tunics meant the blood had dried to his skin. Obi-Wan’s voice did not waver as he peeled back the fabric, layer by layer, adding more saline to wash away the sticky, clotted blood from Qui-Gon’s skin. The tune did not even hesitate as he exposed the wound. Qui-Gon could feel wet squares of gauze being wiped against the parts of his skin that still had nerve endings, and it was like fire. Obi-Wan sang.

When Obi-Wan’s voice finally stilled, Qui-Gon slowly opened his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“The bleeding has mostly stopped. No gaping, so you won’t need adhesive. I dabbed some bacta gel on it, and I put a bandage over it, and we’ll keep an eye on it, okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” The pleasant haze of the medication had finally paired with the relaxation the meditation had brought. “Are you going to get me out of these clothes, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan eyed him critically. “Those must be some good drugs,” he remarked.

“Mm-hmm,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Help me up.”

With some fumbling and very gentle hands, they managed to get Qui-Gon sitting up, resting his back against the couch. “You’re not going to fall over if I go get you some pyjamas, are you?” Obi-Wan asked, sounding serious.

“Probably not,” replied Qui-Gon helpfully. Obi-Wan squinted at him, grabbed a cushion and positioned it to where Qui-Gon’s head would fall should disaster strike, then hurried into the bedroom. “Top drawer.”

Obi-Wan emerged with folded cotton in his hands. He dropped the clothing on the couch next to Qui-Gon, and sighed. “Let me know if you need to stop, or if something hurts.”

“I don’t feel shite right now,” Qui-Gon said, to which Obi-Wan gave him a half-concerned, half-amused glance at the unexpected cursing. “Now take off my clothes.”

“ _Really_ good drugs, huh?” Obi-Wan unbuckled Qui-Gon’s belt and set it on the table. It would need a good cleaning, but his lightsaber, worn only because he had gone to the Senate dome, seemed to have escaped unscathed. Next came the tunics, peeled carefully to the side and slipped off Qui-Gon’s shoulders. “Are you sure you don’t want a shower?”

“Nope. Don’t want to fall. I’ll do it in the morning.” Obi-Wan had managed to wipe away the worst of the blood from his chest, but brownish smears remained. The stark white bandage taped over his scar had small blooms of bright red blood in a vaguely circular pattern. Obi-Wan wrestled Qui-Gon’s arms and head into the sleep shirt. “You should have been a nurse,” said Qui-Gon with a giggle.

“Oh, but then you would never have seen me as a hardened spacer, with my big bushy beard and tight pants,” retorted Obi-Wan as he tugged Qui-Gon’s leggings off.

“I really like the tight pants. A lot.”

Obi-Wan gave him an amused smile. “I know.”

“Makes me want to be a hardened spacer.”

“Qui-Gon!” The scandalized look on Obi-Wan’s face was enough to make Qui-Gon grin widely. “This is not the time.”

The snappy response Qui-Gon had on the tip of his tongue vanished as he concentrated on getting the correct foot into the leg of his pyjama pants. When he was finally dressed, Obi-Wan knelt down and rested his elbow on Qui-Gon’s knee with his chin in hand. “Now what? Do you want me to help you into bed?”

“I don’t want to move. I’ll just lie here on the couch.” Obi-Wan helped him back down, tucking the blanket around him and tucking the thin couch cushion under his head. “Thank you. You’re not going to leave, are you?” The sudden memory of spending nights like these alone, after Dooku had gone home, or Tahl was not in-Temple, assaulted him. He must have projected that apprehension in their bond, because Obi-Wan was there, kneeling next to his head and stroking his hair.

“No, of course I’m not going to leave. Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“No. I won’t be hungry until the meds are out of my system tomorrow. I’m just … awake.”

Obi-Wan nodded and pressed a kiss to Qui-Gon’s forehead. “If you can’t sleep and you’re too loopy to work, then how about a book?”

The rest of their evening was spent with Qui-Gon stretched out on the couch, eyes closed and listening to Obi-Wan’s proper Coruscanti accent as the Knight read from one of the books normally piled next to the bed. He sat on the floor at Qui-Gon’s head, book propped up against his bent knee, with his arm resting on the couch. His fingers traced irregular circles on the palm of Qui-Gon’s hand as he read. The last thought before Qui-Gon slipped into sleep was that it was nice not to be alone anymore.

*

When Qui-Gon opened his eyes again, the room was dark. The chrono’s gently glowing numbers indicated it was the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had dragged a pillow and blanket from the bed and was curled up on the floor next to the couch. His slow breaths were that of deep sleep. The fogginess and edge of mania from the pain medication had subsided; Qui-Gon was in the acceptable area of being mentally functional and able to mostly ignore the throbbing in his chest, but not the cause.

Palpatine. Sidious. A single meeting, completely ordinary if unexpected, had left him bleeding. What had happened? Had Sidious _done_ this to him? Or was there something more, something he had avoided thinking about?

He had to know.

Carefully, quietly, he pushed himself up. He gritted his teeth against the sharp pain of protest from his scar and the irritating pull of medical tape against his skin and chest hair. Stepping over Obi-Wan’s horizontal form required him to hang onto the back of the couch for support. The Knight did not stir. Qui-Gon grabbed his cloak from the hook by the door and wrapped it around his shoulders, hiding his pyjamas from view. He decided against donning his boots because it would require him to bend over. Barefoot and holding his brown cloak closed in front of him with one hand, Qui-Gon slipped out his rooms and headed for the Archives.

The night librarian was not manning the desk, so Qui-Gon headed straight for the ‘lifts. Not a soul was awake at this hour; he was the only one haunting the sublevels. He paused at the door to the holocron room to press his eye to the curved metal security panel and enter his High Council access code. For a moment, he wondered if the door would open; Dooku had said he needed another Councilor to witness the activation of the holocron. The panel chirped and the door slid open silently. He tried not to consider the implications of Dooku wanting him and Obi-Wan to watch him open the holocron. He stomped on the idea that he was in far more danger than he wanted to admit and stepped into the vault.

The climate-controlled room was lit the same in the middle of the night as it was during the day. He wiggled his toes against the cold metal floor tiles. The holocron sat quietly on its pedestal, waiting. Dooku had needed to channel the dark side to open it. What if—

He practiced Obi-Wan’s trick of hiding in the Force, fumbling with the edge this time and biting off a curse when he had to try a second time. On his third attempt, he wrapped the Force around him as snugly as his cloak. He moved closer to the holocron. Doubt started to creep in until he could have reached out to touch the black pyramid. The holocron opened with a click.

Darth Zannah’s image appeared, and she looked smug. Expectant. “I knew I would see you again,” she said.

“How?” he asked, too surprised to recover before speaking.

“You Jedi are always so curious about the dark side, for all you eschew it. You more than others, because it is within you.” A sly smile curved her lips. “I sense it even more strongly now. Something happened. Recently. Tell me, Jedi. I have slept too long, and I am bored.”

“I want to understand why this happened. What it means.”

Zannah chuckled. “It happened because your apprentice used the dark side when he healed you, and he did not know what he was doing. The dark side warred with the light, as it is wont to do, and the dark side won. You may not have died, Jedi, but you are forever marked. The dark side calls out, seeking itself.”

“How is that possible?” Qui-Gon asked, his brow furrowed. “The Force is not sentient.”

“Sentient? No, of course not. But the dark side has powers you will never understand, and I cannot explain them to you. They can only be—” she closed her eyes momentarily, blissful, “— _experienced_. Would you like to experience the dark side, Jedi?”

“No, thanks,” he said dryly.

Her eyes snapped open. “You bleed, Jedi,” she announced. “I can taste it.”

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Thank you for your concern.”

“The dark calls to the dark,” she whispered, “and you have encountered the darkest one.”

Startled, Qui-Gon took a step back. “What do you know about the darkest one?” he demanded.

“The one who woke me before I came to be in the Jedi Temple,” she replied. “The Zabrak. He threatened me, told me stories of his master’s cruelty and desire to watch the galaxy burn. I demanded he bring me to his master, for the Zabrak was not worthy of a Sith name. The master did not trust his apprentice; I could sense the grip of obedience the master had cast over the Zabrak.” She narrowed her eyes at Qui-Gon, and he had the terrible feeling like she was looking into his soul. “I sense the same in you.”

“I do _not_ obey him,” protested Qui-Gon with a hiss.

Zannah laughed. “Of course not, Jedi. That’s not what I meant. I can feel the darkness of your injury. There’s another darkness—an echo, if you will. That is from the master. Dark calls to dark,” she said, as if teaching a child. Seeing Qui-Gon’s aghast face, a wide smile danced over her beautiful features. “The dark side. It is chaos. It destroys. And when it encounters itself, there will always be blood. _Your_ blood, Jedi.”

The holocron snapped closed. Qui-Gon inhaled sharply and felt warmth in his chest; he parted his cloak and peeked into the neck of his shirt. Fresh red blood was seeping through the bandage, running rivulets down his belly. The heavy weight of a hand on his shoulder made him jump. He whirled to find Dooku’s thunderous face staring at him. “What the hells do you think you’re _doing?_ ” Dooku snapped, pulling Qui-Gon out of the room with his hand clamped around his upper arm as though he were a naughty child. His dark eyes swept over Qui-Gon from head to toe. At the sight of blood staining his shirt, Dooku’s eyebrows met. “You may be a Jedi Master with Knighted apprentices and a sitting High Councilor, but I have half a mind to turn you over and _spank you._ ”

Qui-Gon sighed. “I needed answers.”

“Oh, you needed answers. So instead of looking in a book, or discussing it with someone else, you decided to come down here in the middle of the night, wearing your pyjamas, to have a heart-to-heart with a bloody Sith holocron? I have half a mind to report you to the Master of Shadows for interfering with a Sith artifact.” Dooku paused to take a breath. “And why are you bleeding? You’ve blood everywhere.”

“Because dark calls to dark, apparently,” Qui-Gon replied dryly.

Dooku was about to berate him again, but instead stopped and dropped his hand from Qui-Gon’s arm. “What did you say?” he demanded, his voice hushed.

“That’s what Zannah said. My injury was healed by the dark side, and the dark side calls to itself.”

“You must not repeat that to anyone, Qui-Gon,” Dooku cautioned. “There are some who would think you Fallen. That is a Sith mantra.”

“It also appears to be true,” retorted Qui-Gon.

“Hmm.” Dooku tapped his fingers against the curved hilt of his lightsaber. “How did you get the holocron open?”

“I didn’t realize you would actually let me stand here and bleed on the floor while you interrogated me.” Dooku sighed with exasperation and plucked a clean handkerchief out of his belt pouch. He handed it to Qui-Gon and started towards the ‘lifts. Qui-Gon followed, pressing the cloth over his blood-soaked bandage. “I hid myself in the Force, just like Obi-Wan is able to do. When he taught me how, we discovered my injury is steeped in the dark side. He was able to sense it.” He thought he was speaking matter-of-factly, but Dooku reached over and patted him gently on the back.

“I … suspected. There are a few accounts of other wounds repaired with the dark side that never truly healed.” At Qui-Gon’s pointed look, Dooku admitted, “These accounts are not found in texts that Jedi should be reading. I did not want to suggest it in case I was wrong, and there is no way to help if it is true.”

Qui-Gon shrugged. “I appreciate you not saying anything. I don’t think I was in the proper state of mind to even hear the idea until recently.”

Another pat on his back. “I know,” Dooku said softly.

They rode the ‘lift in silence until Qui-Gon could no longer keep quiet. “Master, what did you use to open the holocron?”

Dooku did not pretend he did not know what Qui-Gon meant. His posture stiffened. Without looking at Qui-Gon, he said, “Komari.”

The ‘lift doors opened, and Dooku strode out onto the main floor of the Archives without another word.

*

His return to his quarters went about as well as Qui-Gon had expected. Obi-Wan was waiting on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and a glower beneath his beard. “So you take off in the middle of the night after taking heavy painkillers and don’t leave me a note?”

“I had hoped to be back before you woke up,” replied Qui-Gon mildly.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“I couldn’t bend over to put them on.” Qui-Gon shrugged out of his cloak with a wince and braced himself for Obi-Wan’s reaction.

“You’re still bleeding! Qui-Gon, we need to go to Abella.” Already up from his spot on the couch, Obi-Wan crossed the room to grab his jacket.

“No, it’s fine, Obi-Wan. This is not from this afternoon.” He padded further into the sitting room and opened the medkit. “This was from Darth Zannah.”

Obi-Wan’s lips were set into a harsh line as he grabbed Qui-Gon’s wrist. “You went to talk to a Sith holocron in the middle of the night by yourself?”

“Without shoes, even.” Obi-Wan did not smile at his attempted joke.

“Sit down,” the Knight ordered, stabbing his finger in the direction of the couch. “Pull up your shirt.”

Annoyance and no little upset thrummed through the bond. Qui-Gon eased himself down and ignored the pain that pulling the shirt over his head caused him. At the sight of the bright red bandage, Obi-Wan sucked in a breath and refused to look him in the eye. “You know,” he started as he flipped the top of the med kit open and perched on the couch next to Qui-Gon, “I had really hoped that you had changed, Qui-Gon.” He ripped open a gauze bandage with more force than was necessary. “When I came back, it was like you were a new person. Grounded. Self-aware. Pragmatic about your limits. And now you’ve proven that your ability for recklessness and sheer stupidity hasn’t diminished in the slightest.”

“I think you’re overselling it a bit,” replied Qui-Gon defensively. A heartbeat passed, and he admitted, “But your grand-Master would agree with you.”

“Of course he does,” Obi-Wan retorted, pointing at the blood soaked bandage taped to Qui-Gon’s chest. “Just so we’re clear, I’m upset that you did this by yourself. No one should interact with a Sith holocron alone. You didn’t tell anyone, let alone _me,_ what you were up to. You’re a Force-damned idiot, Qui-Gon Jinn.” His fingers were nimble and gentle, despite his tone, as he picked at the corner of medical tape and peeled the bandage off.

“The Force has damned me,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “This injury will never heal, because the dark side won’t allow it. That’s what Zannah told me. That’s what I needed to know.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers stilled. The bond was a mess of hurt and guilt. “Obi-Wan, I know you blame yourself for this. Don’t.”

“It’s hard to forgive yourself for something that’s staring you in the face,” he said, barely a whisper. His inability to look Qui-Gon in the eye resigned Qui-Gon to not press the issue. His copper Knight needed time, just as Qui-Gon had. Obi-Wan gave the last bit of medical tape a tug with a wince, revealing the bloodied scar. “The bleeding’s stopped.”

“Put another bandage on it and let’s go to bed,” Qui-Gon instructed. Obi-Wan did not reply as he ripped four long stretches of tape and stuck them to the edge of the coffee table. When the bandage was properly affixed, Obi-Wan started packing everything back into the medkit. Qui-Gon put his hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. “That will keep, love. Help me up.”

Obi-Wan still said nothing as he hooked his hands under Qui-Gon’s arms and pulled him up. He gathered the pillow and blanket he filched from the bedroom. Qui-Gon herded him into the bedroom, where they silently slipped into bed. He hated sleeping on his back, even four years after it had become a necessity. With a flick of the Force, he turned off the lights. “Obi-Wan?”

“Hmm?” came the voice on the other side of the bed.

“Come here?”

Perhaps the plaintive note in his voice was the convincing factor. Obi-Wan shuffled his body closer, and Qui-Gon stretched out his arm against the pillow. His copper Knight laid his head against Qui-Gon’s shoulder and sighed heavily. Qui-Gon turned his head and brushed the top of Obi-Wan’s head with his lips. “This isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you, but if you want to hear it anyway: I forgive you.”

Obi-Wan did not reply, but his arm snaked over Qui-Gon’s hips and squeezed.

*

It spoke volumes about how deeply his undercover operation had changed Obi-Wan when they stood at the bottom of the Grand Stair, waiting for Padmé and her retinue, and he refused to wear traditional Jedi robes for the occasion. His clothes were clean and his boots had been blackened to cover the scuffs on the toes, but even with his lightsaber hanging from his wide leather belt, he looked like a pirate. _I’m starting to wonder if you dress like that because you like it, or because you like what it does to me,_ Qui-Gon mused.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow at him and clasped his hands behind his back. _And what, exactly, does it do to you, Qui?_

_I’ll show you later._ Obi-Wan smirked. Sleeping in a real bed for the rest of the night had done wonders for both of them. His chest was tender and sore today, but he hadn’t torn open his scar while getting dressed. Qui-Gon brushed the backs of his left-hand fingers against Obi-Wan’s thigh, then hid his hands in the sleeves of his cloak. He spotted Amidala and two of her handmaidens, escorted by a Temple security guard. Unable to bow this morning, he inclined his head. “Good morning, Senator Amidala. Welcome to the Jedi Temple.”

Padmé nodded in return. She peered at Obi-Wan out of the corner of her eye for a moment, then squinted at him. “Obi-Wan? Is that you? I hardly recognized you.”

Obi-Wan grinned and took Padmé’s hand. He bent over it without pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “Hello, Senator. It’s lovely to see you again.” He glanced over her shoulder, taking in the features of the handmaidens. “Sabé and Eirtaé. A pleasure, ladies.”

The two handmaidens smiled, surprised to have been remembered. Eirtaé, blonde where Padmé and Sabé were dark, covered her mouth behind her hand. _When did you turn into an incorrigible flirt?_ Qui-Gon groused.

_I’m not flirting, I’m being polite. You’d know if I was flirting. Well, maybe not_ you _, my dear oblivious one,_ Obi-Wan quipped. Qui-Gon could feel the teasing grin over the bond.

For all Padmé’s steely determination and political experience, Qui-Gon could easily sense her thinly-veiled desire to turn her head and stare at their surroundings. Instead, she turned to Qui-Gon. “I’m afraid my time here is limited, gentlemen. I would like to speak to the clones immediately.”

“Certainly, Senator. They are expecting you.” Qui-Gon motioned for Padmé to follow him; Obi-Wan fell in step with the handmaidens and quietly pointed out architectural features and historical tidbits as they walked. The plan had been for a meandering tour of the main Temple floors, but instead Qui-Gon brought them all to an empty meeting room. Bland and unremarkable, the room was occupied when the group entered. Rex and Cody pushed out of their chairs and stood at attention, their boots making a muffled stomp even on the carpet.

Padmé’s eyes widened as she took in the men’s identical faces. They did not move a muscle, until Qui-Gon finally said, “Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo, may I present Rex and Cody.”

Padmé took a step towards them, hand outstretched to greet them formally. Rex’s eyeballs rolled down to look at her hand, back up to Qui-Gon, then back down to the young Senator. Awkwardly, Padme glanced over her shoulder at her handmaidens, then said, “Er, at ease, please, gentlemen?”

The clones shifted, spreading their legs shoulder-width apart and clasping their hands behind their backs. Rex leaned forward slightly and gingerly took Padmé’s hand. They stood there, hands clasped, neither one making a move to shake, until Cody cleared his throat. Rex dropped the Senator’s hand as though it burned him and returned to his position of ease. A consummate politician, Padmé ignored the rising discomfiture and offered a sincere smile. “Let’s have a seat while we talk, shall we?”

She gracefully seated herself in a chair across the plain table from the clones, flanked by her handmaidens. With her hands clasped in her lap, she waited patiently for the clones to sit down. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan sat opposite each other at the ends of the table. “Tell me about yourselves,” she began.

“We are clones, ma’am. We have been bred and trained from birth for the sole purpose of serving the Republic in a military capacity,” Cody told her stiffly. When he did not elaborate further, Rex stepped in.

“Our purpose is to serve, Senator,” he said. “That is all that there is to a clone. We serve so that the Republic will thrive.”

“I serve the Republic as well,” Padmé replied. “But that is not all that I am. What else do you strive for?”

The clones exchanged a guarded look and were silent a moment before Cody said, “Freedom, Senator. We would not be slaves.”

Padmé’s face did not change, but Qui-Gon could feel a sudden determination wrap around her like armour. “Slavery is illegal in the Republic,” she said, her voice hinting at the flatness she used to have while Queen of Theed.

“What would you call twenty thousand individuals possessing no protection of citizenship created for the sole purpose of unquestioning military service to the Galactic Republic?” Qui-Gon interjected.

“Slavery,” retorted Padmé. “That’s a good line, Master Jinn. I might have to steal it.” Her attention never wavered from Rex and Cody. “What would you do if you had full citizenship? If you weren’t forced to be soldiers?”

 Cody’s lips twitched before he was able to smooth his features. “I might like to take up farming,” he said.

“You’re not a very good liar,” Padmé told him, smiling to take the sting out of her words. To Qui-Gon’s surprise, Cody returned the smile.

“From what I’ve been reading, the Judicial forces are always looking for recruits,” Rex said with a shrug. “What better way to keep soldiers employed?”

Padmé was already nodding to herself. “An excellent option. Would the rest of your brethren be amenable to this?”

“Our brothers?” Rex corrected. “I believe they would, Senator. There may be a few here and there whose genetic quirks predispose them to prefer other occupations but haven’t caught the attention of the Kaminoans, but on the whole, I would answer yes on their behalf.”

“And what do the Kaminoans do when they find these … quirks?” Padmé had been ready to push herself away from the table and conclude the meeting, but she placed her hands flat on the table and turned her level gaze on the clones.

“Clones with unacceptable genetic quirks are reassigned to menial labour if they are still able to work. Those that are not able are terminated,” Cody told her, his voice flat.

“I see,” Padmé replied softly. “Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me today. I cannot officially speak on behalf of Naboo yet, but I want you to know that I will do everything I can to assist your petition in the Senate.”

As she rose from the table, so did the clones; Qui-Gon’s comm chirped at him from his pocket as Senator and clones exchanged considerably less awkward handshakes. “Jinn here,” he said quietly into his comm.

“Master Qui-Gon, it’s Abella. Can you bring Rex and Cody to my office immediately?” the Chitanook Healer said.

“Understood. We’ll be there shortly.” He stabbed the comm with his thumb and replaced it in his pocket. “Obi-Wan? Would you kindly escort the Senator to the Room of a Thousand Fountains? I have it on good authority that Padawan Skywalker is waiting to say hello.”

Obi-Wan nodded graciously and offered Padmé his arm. “If you’ll come with me, Senator? Ladies?” _See? Polite. Not flirting._

Eirtaé was hiding her smile behind her hand again. _You just keep telling yourself that, love._

*

Abella was eyeing the way Qui-Gon gingerly took a seat in her office with more scrutiny that he liked, but to his relief she said nothing. He suspected he would hear from her later when there were no witnesses. Rex and Cody declined to sit and stood hovering behind Qui-Gon. Crossing her arms over her chest, Abella turned her prying eyes on the clones. “I think I’ve discovered a way to destroy the inhibitor chips without surgical removal,” she said, skipping the preamble.

“Excellent,” replied Qui-Gon.

“There’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.” Qui-Gon folded his hands in his lap and waited patiently for the explanation.

“There’s no way to read the data encoded on the chips. It likely requires a specific piece of equipment that we can’t replicate. However, we can both disrupt any signals to the chips and degrade the chip beyond repair. This effectively protects any clone with the chip from being forced to act as the chip requires. However, in order to do this, each clone needs to be exposed to a dose of radiation.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “How much radiation?”

“Enough that I would recommend it be done in a targeted way so that we lessen the exposure to the rest of the body. Each clone would need to be treated individually.”

“The Kaminoans would never allow it,” Rex said.

“Then we need to get your brothers off Kamino,” Abella said. Her smile was terrifying. “Master Qui-Gon, I have a request of the High Council for a proposed training exercise. There is an emergency medical situation in the Outer Rim, near the Rishi Maze, and I need the use of the MedCorps’ freighter to correct it.”

“Now?”

Abella nodded, her teeth glinting white. “Yes, Master Jinn. Immediately. I have apprentices that require field training and there are other Healers on staff who need a refresher of out-of-Temple procedures before their qualifications expire.”

Unbidden, the memory of Palpatine’s smooth voice rose in his mind. _“However, I still wish to meet with them personally.”_ He suppressed a shudder, and glanced over his shoulder at Rex and Cody. “I think that can be arranged, Healer Abella, as the freighter is not currently mission-bound. I would request, however, that you take these two gentlemen with you to help you liaise with the local population.”

“Sir?” Rex asked.

“Yes, Rex. I believe that you and Cody will be invaluable assets to Healer Abella in this mission. I refuse to order you directly, but I hope that you take my strong encouragement to heart. I’m asking you and Cody to accompany Healer Abella to the Outer Rim. You are not under any obligation to agree.” Qui-Gon fixed his gaze upon the clones, who exchanged an unreadable look before coming to attention.

“Yes, sir!” they chorused.

“Excellent. Thank you both. I’ll go round up some High Councilors to get you that ship, Abella.” Qui-Gon managed to push himself out of the chair without wincing or making any noise. He was at the door when she raised her voice after him.

“When you’re done, come back and see me. I want to check your scar.”

He grimaced at the door in reply. Almost made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks to my fantastic beta Aryax, who is all that is good in this world.
> 
> I want to thank each and every one of you for reading this, for commenting, for kudos. The day that hit count rolled over 10,000 was a truly humbling day, and you all motivate me to keep writing.
> 
> For anyone interested, you can follow me over on my old lady Tumblr, where I'm meggory84. I like to post upcoming snippets and deleted scenes!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diplomacy is a beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning that this chapter has a non-graphic mention of an animal being killed.

Authorizing the medical freighter _Sanctuary_ to reroute to the Outer Rim was far easier than Qui-Gon had anticipated. He wrote the memo in record time, and tracked down Yoda for his signature in the crèche. To his surprise, Adi Gallia was with him, reading a picture book to an entranced group of children and reading each character with a different voice. Yoda waited for her to finish the story before beckoning her with his claw.

“Yes, I’ll read another in just a moment, children. Can you choose a story, Grawl? Good.” Adi gently disentangled herself from a little Zeltron hugging her leg to join the other adults. “Qui-Gon! I thought you were at the Senate building with Mace.”

He noted her casual familiarity with Mace’s name and filed it away for future reference. “I had a meeting with Senator Amidala of Naboo in regards to the clones, and Mace said he would comm if he needed assistance.” He passed her the datapad with the memo and quickly summed up the contents. “I just need two other signatures to action this.”

“The _Sanctuary_ isn’t currently in operations?” Adi asked.

“No,” replied Qui-Gon. “And we need to get the clones off Kamino as soon as possible. Abella is writing up the operation orders, and the ship will be here by tomorrow morning if we request it within the hour.”

Adi pressed her thumbprint to the datapad and handed it to Yoda, who scanned the text. He grunted in approval and gave his thumbprint as well. “In danger, Rex and Cody are, Qui-Gon?”

Gravely, Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes, Master. I believe they are in danger every minute they stay on Coruscant now that certain persons are aware of their presence here.”

“Then go. Protect them, we must.”

Qui-Gon nodded and turned to leave, but had to turn back around and wave at the children as they chorused, “Bye, Master Qui-Gon!”

His comm was already in his hand as he left the crèche. “Abella, you have your mission approval. I’m sending you the signed memo now.”

Her toothy smile was almost audible. “Excellent. Thank you, Master Qui-Gon. I’ll see you in my office before tomorrow morning.”

He rolled his eyes and stabbed his comm with his thumb. “You’ll have to catch me first,” he muttered.

The rest of his day was spent filling out the paperwork that came with a Jedi training mission: flightplans, ration and supply requests from the quartermaster, personnel scheduling—all with enough leeway to enable Abella to take the ship to Kamino without announcing her destination. He normally eschewed his cramped but well-lit Councilor’s office, but today he covered the top of his desk with datapads. He leaned back in his chair after sending what he hoped would be the last document to Coruscant Air Traffic Authority and groaned as his joints protested.

_They’re still talking,_ Obi-Wan’s grumpy voice whispered in his mind. _I didn’t realize I would be spending my entire day as a chaperone._

Qui-Gon chuckled to himself. _How terrible for you to be the responsible one._

_I am always responsible. Of the two of us, I’m the most responsible,_ replied Obi-Wan, sounding miffed.

_Of the two of us? That’s hardly a glowing recommendation._ He could feel Obi-Wan’s wry mirth. _I’m certain I trained you as a diplomat. Diplomatically shoo Anakin back to his quarters and ask Padmé to contact me in the morning. Tell her we require a quick response regarding the clones. She’ll know what I’m talking about._

_Will do_ , Obi-Wan replied. _Did you know the two of them together are obnoxious?_

_Rex and Cody?_ he asked, surprised.

_No, Anakin and Padmé. They haven’t stopped talking and staring at each other when they think no one’s looking. I’m surprised at her, though. I rather thought she was the sensible one._

_For all she’s a Senator, she’s still young. Perhaps she’s overwhelmed with the prospect of a friend who is not in the political scene and who likes her as Padmé, not Queen of Theed or Senator Amidala._

He felt Obi-Wan musing agreement. _Perhaps. Though I think Master Windu might have to lock his apprentice in the Temple until he’s Knighted to avoid a scandal, and he’s only thirteen! I don’t remember ever being this much trouble around girls._

Qui-Gon almost fell out of his chair with laughter. _I have two words for you, my love: Satine Kryze._

Obi-Wan may have been halfway around the Temple, but Qui-Gon could almost see the blush spreading over his lover’s fair face. _That’s unfair use of prior knowledge,_ grumbled Obi-Wan.

_It is,_ acknowledged Qui-Gon with a smile. _Hurry up, my love. I’ll meet you at home._

_I like the way that sounds, you know. Home._

_Me, too._ The feeling of Obi-Wan in his head diminished, and the smile remained on his lips as he stacked his datapads neatly and left his tiny office.

*

As a testament to his diplomatic skills, Obi-Wan made it back to their quarters before Qui-Gon. A pleasant shiver ran up his spine at the thought of these rooms being _theirs_. It was not forbidden for two Knighted Jedi to share quarters, but it was _not done._ His thoughts fled as Obi-Wan all but pounced on him as he stepped across the threshold. Arms twined around his neck and greedy lips met his; Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and pulled him close. _What say you to a shower before our meal?_ asked Obi-Wan as he kissed his way down the column of Qui-Gon’s throat.

_I showered this morning,_ replied Qui-Gon, running his fingers through his lover’s hair.

That earned him a chuckle against his skin. _I was thinking recreational,_ Obi-Wan retorted.

_Am I really that oblivious?_ Qui-Gon complained with a sigh. Obi-Wan pulled away and kissed the tip of his nose.

_Yes, but I’m finding it quite adorable_.

“Go get into the shower, then. I’ll be right there,” Qui-Gon told him. That predatory smile answered, and Obi-Wan disappeared into the ‘fresher. The sound of running water met his ears as he slipped off his cloak and hung it on the peg by the door. Boots. He had needed Obi-Wan to help him with his boots this morning, and he was going to need his help to remove them; bending over and putting any kind of pressure on his scar was out of the question today. He took a step towards the ‘fresher as the door chime rang. _Are you in the shower already?_

_Yes, and I’m waiting,_ replied Obi-Wan teasingly.

_Wait’s over; we have company._ He could sense, if not hear the specifics, of the vitriolic string of expletives that Obi-Wan invented. Qui-Gon palmed open the door to find a knot of High Councilors surrounding a hooded figure. “Mace, what is going on?”

Mace did not wait for an invitation to enter. He slipped past Qui-Gon into the sitting room, followed by Yoda, Dooku, Plo Koon, and their mystery fifth. Once over the threshold, the concealed person flipped back the hood, and Qui-Gon’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of a visibly angry Bail Organa. “Mace?” snapped Qui-Gon.

“I asked him to bring me here, Master Jinn. My apologies for intruding,” Bail said politely, “but there are some serious issues that we must discuss.”

“Surely this is not the most secure place we could be talking?” Qui-Gon replied.

Plo Koon turned his covered eyes to Qui-Gon. “Our security sweep found no listening devices or malicious code in Temple quarters,” he said, emphasizing the last word slightly. Qui-Gon’s heart sank at the implication; what _had_ Temple security found elsewhere?

It was then that Obi-Wan emerged from the ‘fresher, fully dressed except for his boots. The pink flush to his skin and wet hair screamed of his presence in the shower, but Qui-Gon could feel an underlying thread of apprehension and embarrassment. With every eye scrutinizing his appearance, Obi-Wan offered a casual shrug. “My shower was on the fritz this morning,” he announced. No one exchanged glances, but Dooku’s face was particularly bland. Plo Koon seemed surprised to find Obi-Wan here. “Good evening, Masters. Senator Organa, what an unexpected pleasure. My personal thanks for your defense of the Order in the Senate against Senator Taa’s accusations.”

_Flirting_ , Qui-Gon sent wryly.

_Polite,_ Obi-Wan countered. _Always cover surprise with manners._ _You taught me that._

Bail’s face remained impassive, but he nodded. “Perhaps my defense was premature, given what has been brought to my attention.”

“And what is that, Senator?” asked Qui-Gon, motioning for his guests to sit down. No one moved.

“You moved four billion Republic credits from Kamino to various private bank accounts,” Bail stated flatly, “and I didn’t hear about it until today in the form of an anonymous tip.”

“I did,” Qui-Gon admitted.

“And from the lack of reaction on your colleagues’ faces, they also knew about it and did not report it to the Senate.”

“It was a refund to the Republic from the Kaminoans. I terminated the contract for the clone army, and needed to move the money off Kamino,” explained Qui-Gon.

“So you moved the money into private bank accounts, instead of into the Jedi account, or the Senate coffers?” Bail’s voice did not grow louder, but his words were icy.

“I don’t have access to either of those accounts, Senator. I am not the Head of the Order, nor do I sit on the Board of Finance. I put the money into accounts that I did have access to, thanks to Master Dooku.”

Slowly, Bail Organa turned his head to stare at Dooku, who glared back at him with a cold, imperious face that made Qui-Gon shudder at the similarity to Darth Tyrannus. “Those are your bank accounts?” Bail asked, incredulous.

“Of course,” Dooku replied.

 Bail’s mouth dropped open in shock. When he recovered, he managed to splutter, “You transferred all those credits to bank accounts that can be traced back to you?!”

Dooku offered a haughty, almost imperceptible shrug. “We had to put it somewhere. We couldn’t leave it in the hands of the Kaminoans.”

“You’re now indictable for money laundering, tax evasion, and fraud. Embezzlement’s not off the table, either.” Bail passed his hands over his face. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“They’re not his personal accounts,” Obi-Wan said suddenly. Every head in the room turned their full attention on him, and he spread his hands wide. “They’re emergency access funds for Shadows, or other undercover Jedi in trouble. They can’t just waltz up to a bank and withdraw Temple funds in the middle of mission. It would blow their cover.”

Bail narrowed his eyes at Obi-Wan suspiciously. “Then why are all these accounts set up in Master Dooku’s name?”

Dooku had never looked so wide-eyed and innocent in all the years Qui-Gon had known him. The haughty Jedi Master disappeared. He suddenly looked like a doddering old man. “Someone had to set up those accounts. I offered. I’m just a humble Jedi Master, Senator. Our order is dedicated to helping others and following the ways of the Force. We have little need for or understanding of financial matters.”

“Uh-huh,” retorted Bail. “Keep practicing, Master Dooku. You may just fool enough senators to keep your ass out of prison and from being expelled from the Order.”

“Pardon me, Senator, but who gets expelled from the Order is the business of the High Council, not the Galactic Senate,” Mace said, his voice hard.

“An error in judgment, Master Dooku made. Happen, mistakes do, especially when short, time is.” Yoda blinked calmly.

Bail threw up his hands. “Do you have any idea how hard I’m going to have to work to keep this quiet?”

“Why keep it quiet?” Qui-Gon asked, ignoring Plo Koon’s incredulous posture.

Bail squinted at him as though he were particularly stupid. “To protect the Order from criminal proceedings?”

“What the Order did, what I did, is not the issue here,” said Qui-Gon. Bail crossed his arms over his chest at Qui-Gon’s statement but said nothing. “The real issue, which I believe is the one that requires an immediate answer, is where did that money come from in the first place? Master Sifo-Dyas ordered the clones. That is not in dispute. How did the Kaminoans come to be paid for them? The money certainly did not come from the Jedi Order, but it came from somewhere, and it came as a large, lump-sum payment that the Kaminoans have been holding in trust until delivery of the final clone to the Republic.” Qui-Gon tried to mirror Bail’s stance, but the protest from his chest was too much. “Tell us about this anonymous tip, Senator.”

“A message directed to my inbox,” Bail replied. “The sender’s information was scrambled.”

“A copy of this message have you, Senator?” Yoda asked. Bail nodded and withdrew a thumb-sized data drive from his pocket. “Tried to uncover the sender, you did?”

“Of course, Master Yoda, but I had no luck. I’m not much of a slicer, unfortunately.”

“Allow us to try, will you?”

Bail shook his head. “No. That would be a significant conflict of interest.”

“As much of a conflict of interest as the head of an inquiry against the Jedi Order meeting with members of the High Council in secret?” Mace shot back. “I’m rounding up to three-quarters.”

“If you’d allow me, Senator, I could have a look at it right now,” Obi-Wan offered quickly, his expression polite and neutral. “You could supervise.”

“Very well,” Bail said grudgingly as he handed Obi-Wan the data drive. Obi-Wan brought it to the computer terminal jammed in the corner of the sitting room, but did not insert it into the drive slot. Instead, he plucked a datapad resting on the corner of the terminal and returned to the throng. With the drive plugged into the datapad, Obi-Wan showed Bail the screen for approval. At Bail’s nod, the fingers of Obi-Wan’s right hand flew over the datapad’s surface. A few moments passed before a crease appeared between Obi-Wan’s eyebrows.

“Damn,” he swore softly.

“What is it, Obi-Wan?” Dooku asked.

“Look.” Eager, the High Councilors jostled for position for a second before Bail plucked the datapad out of Obi-Wan’s hands.

“This is not possible,” he stated, voice flat. He turned the datapad around to show the screen, and Qui-Gon was able to see _Padmé Amidala_ in bold text next to the sender’s identification line. “There is no chance that Senator Amidala would send this to me anonymously. She is a forthright politician.”

“You must not remember her decoys,” Mace bit out.

“I agree with Senator Organa,” Qui-Gon said. “Senator Amidala is not the type to send something like this. Is it possible that the code has been altered to make it seem the message came from her?”

“Possible? Yes. Do I think this is the case? No. There’s no indication of tampering in the code, other than to scramble the sender’s identity.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “I could ask Master Tahl to confirm, but I am confident that this message came from Senator Amidala’s office in the Senate dome. Whether she was the one who sent it is a different question altogether.”

“You all seem to believe Senator Amidala incapable of leaking an important document relevant to the inquiry to another friendly Senator,” Plo Koon stated. “I myself remain skeptical, and would urge you to do the same in times such as these.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were both shaking their heads. “I’m sorry, Master Koon,” Obi-Wan began, “but if you knew Senator Amidala the way we do—”

“You would not think her behind this,” Qui-Gon finished. “The Senator is young, yes, but she has significant political experience and a dedication to transparent practices in a democratic Senate.”

_Padmé agreed to meet with you tomorrow morning at 0500,_ Obi-Wan added helpfully.

“I have a meeting with the Senator in the morning. If you do not object, Senator Organa, I would like to get to the bottom of this.”

Bail’s response was swift and stern. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Bail—” Mace began, but the Alderaanian whirled on his friend.

“No, Mace. I will not jepordize the results of this inquiry by allowing the Jedi to investigate themselves. I’m already abandoning my ethics by being here. I won’t go any further.” He took a step forward, drawing himself up to his full height as he glowered at the Korun Master. “I want to know what the hells is going on. You dodged the question yesterday, and I still want an answer.”

Dead silence met his words. Mace and Yoda were watching each other with unfocused eyes, conducting a mental discussion for a full minute before Mace sighed. “Sit down, Bail.”

“I don’t want to sit down, Mace. Tell me.” Bail lifted his chin in defiance.

“We are trying to flush out the Sith,” Mace said quietly.

“Working in the Senate, he is,” added Yoda as he leaned on his gimer stick. “A matter for the Jedi, the Sith is. Your help, we need.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who it is,” Bail grumbled, but his lips were thin with tension. Not even the Senator from Alderaan could ignore the dire threat posed by the Sith, and Qui-Gon was thankful that they were not dealing with a politician who thought the Sith a fairy tale.

“Your life, we value, Senator,” Yoda replied. “If give you all the information, we did, a target, you would be.”

Bail ran his fingers over his goatee in thought. “Very well. Master Jinn, I will accompany you to this meeting with Senator Amidala and we will get to the bottom of this. I will meet you at her office when?”

“0500.”

“Now,” he said as he settled the hood of his cape back over his head, “it’s time for me to leave. I’ve stayed too long as it is. Good evening.” Without hesitation, he marched out of Qui-Gon’s quarters, leaving Mace and Plo Koon to scramble after him. Yoda watched them go with half-lidded eyes.

“Complicated, this is becoming,” he murmured. “Meditate on our dealings with the Senate, I must.”

Silently, Dooku knelt down and held out his arm for Yoda to clamber onto his back. The troll settled himself quickly, and passed Dooku the gimer stick, which Dooku tucked under his arm like an unbothered drill sergeant. “Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan,” Dooku acknowledged them with a nod. His impassive face gave no hint that he had his former Master riding his shoulders, but he quirked his lips slightly as he said, “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Dooku and Yoda had left, Qui-Gon groaned and eased himself down on the couch. “I’m starting to wish I had never taken that High Council seat,” he muttered. “My life is becoming too interesting.”

Obi-Wan snickered as he took the seat next to Qui-Gon and kissed his lover’s temple. “I think there’s an old curse about that.”

*

Obi-Wan was brewing them tea before the sun rose. “I think my neighbour suspects I’m not sleeping in my quarters,” he said abruptly.

Settling his belt in place, Qui-Gon stopped at the entrance of the tiny kitchen. “Oh?”

“I passed her in the corridor yesterday and she gave me the shiftiest look I’ve ever seen with the notable exception of Hondo Ohnaka playing sabacc with three cards up his sleeve.” He poured them each a mug, then brought one to Qui-Gon, who gave him a grateful peck on the cheek. “So she’s either suspicious or marking me for future practical jokes, and she doesn’t look like the pranking type.”

“What would you like to do about it?” Qui-Gon asked carefully, all the while hoping that Obi-Wan would not suggest he return to his room. His sleep had improved dramatically since Obi-Wan started sharing his bed.

“Nothing,” replied Obi-Wan. He blew across the surface of his tea and took a hesitant sip. “She can suspect all she wants. I have no intention of sleeping alone again. We’re hardly being indiscreet, and nothing we are doing is illegal or against the Code.”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble, Obi-Wan.”

He smiled. “Since when? If you didn’t cause me trouble, my life would be terribly boring,” he said. “If we’re going to continue this relationship, we’re going to stir up a lot of whispers. I mean, did you see Plo Koon’s face when he saw me walk out of the ‘fresher? I’m not the best at reading Kel Dor expressions, but I’m quite certain he was a tad scandalized. He won’t be the only one, Qui. I’m okay with that. Are you?”

Qui-Gon set down his mug on the counter and motioned for Obi-Wan to do the same, then pulled his copper Knight into a tight embrace. “I’m Qui-Gon Jinn, remember? This won’t be the first time people have whispered about my actions being unbecoming to the Jedi. Hells, this time I’m not even breaking actual rules.” He heard Obi-Wan chuckle into his tunics. “Finish your tea, and let’s go. The Senators will be waiting.”

This early in the morning, the traffic over to the Senate dome was light and quick. To their surprise, Senator Organa stood on the shuttle pad and approached them as they disembarked. “Good morning, Master Jinn. Knight Kenobi.”

The Jedi bowed, with Obi-Wan bending slightly lower than Qui-Gon as befitting his rank. “Shall we, Senator Organa?” Qui-Gon said, motioning for the Senator to precede them.

They walked to the Naboo contingent’s offices in outward silence. _Padmé is not going to be happy,_ Obi-Wan told Qui-Gon. _She doesn’t like political games._

_I know. When we get there, would you keep watch over the door while Organa and I speak with her? I’m finding myself becoming paranoid the longer we are here._

_After your last foray into the Senate dome, I’m not surprised. It’s not paranoia when you know the Sith is plotting our demise, Qui._

The Jedi exchanged a look filled with agreement and concern as they stopped in front of a closed door marked “Naboo-Chommell Sector/Senator Padmé Amidala.” Bail raised his hand and pressed the chime; the door opened so fast that it was clear Eirté had been waiting on the other side. “The Senator is expecting you, gentlemen,” she said quietly. She stepped aside to allow them entry, and Qui-Gon noted that she did not look him in the eye.

“Now will you tell me what this is all about, Bail?” said Padmé irritably as she emerged from her personal office. Despite the early hour, she was perfectly coiffed and elaborately dressed for the afternoon Senate session. The dark velvet dress made her look older than she was.

“In private, if you please, Padmé,” replied Bail. Lips thinning, Padmé nodded and retreated back towards her desk.

“I’ll stay and keep Eirtaé company,” Obi-Wan announced, flashing a charming smile to the handmaiden. She lifted her eyes to him but her mouth did not even twitch. _Can you sense how upset she is?_

_Yes. Use your grand manners and see if you can wheedle anything out of her._ He felt Obi-Wan’s general agreement as the door closed between them. From his belt pocket, he pulled a small datapad and handed it to Padmé across her cleared desk. “This was sent from your office, Senator.”

The former Queen of Theed plucked the datapad from his hand and read it. Her expression changed from one of minor annoyance to a dark thundercloud of anger. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice tight and low.

“I received this message as an anonymous tip, ostensibly as evidence for the inquiry. I had it unscrambled, and the sender information came back as being from your computer terminal,” Bail explained.

Padmé set the datapad down carefully, then met Bail’s gaze. “I did not send this, Bail. I promise you that. I have no information about money transferred to or from Kamino.” Qui-Gon could sense the forthrightness of her words, but he had to press.

“If you did not send it, Senator, then who has access to your computer terminal?” he asked. Padmé glared at him.

“I hope you’re not implicating one of my handmaidens, Master Jinn. They are loyal and have been with me since my time as Queen,” she retorted. Qui-Gon imagined that many a sycophant had quailed under the steely look she was levelling at him now.

“People change, Senator. People can be coerced.”

“So you want to investigate my staff,” she said flatly. He mentally applauded her for not continuing to insist that her people were impossible to sway. There were good reasons she had been Queen, and now Senator; having seen her tempered by the Invasion of Naboo, he was proud of her pragmatism.

“I would like permission to ask a few questions, Senator, to clear your staff of any involvement. While it is possible the message’s metadata was altered to show your name as the sender, we have not yet found evidence for that. It is more likely that someone used your terminal.”

“Very well, Master Jinn, but on the condition that I be present at any questioning.”

“Of course, Senator.” It was far more likely that staff would project anxiety about lying if Padmé was there; lying to a Jedi alone would be easier on the conscience. “Before we adjourn, I have another matter to discuss with you.”

Padmé looked at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“The clones, Senator.”

“I’ve only just sent messages to Naboo. I’m still waiting for a reply,” she told him.

“It’s become a matter of urgency. There is a possibility that the Kaminoans could terminate the clones if they hear about the petition to join the Republic,” he said, to which Padmé’s face registered horror. “Exactly, Senator. Were the clones to gain citizenship, the Kaminoans would have a very difficult time selling clones as property. Once the clones are members of the Republic, they are protected from slavery, and the precedent it sets would ensure the Kaminoans never sell their products within Republic borders. Their economy would collapse.”

“You’re trying to get the clone soldiers Republic citizenship?” Bail asked, his voice incredulous.

“I am, Senator, and I will do everything in my power to ensure my success in this matter,” replied Qui-Gon. “They may have been paid for with Republic funds, but they are not property.”

Padmé was silent for a moment as Bail nodded to himself, but her troubled brown eyes spoke volumes. “I will not allow slavery under the banner of cloning,” she declared. “The Queen and her advisors won’t make a quick decision on this matter, unfortunately. However, I know someone else who can, and whose approval does not require the formal endorsement of the Naboo government.”

Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow at her, curious, and she offered him a sly smile. “My efforts to get the Gungans a seat in the Senate have not gone unappreciated. I’m certain Boss Nass would allow the clones to settle on his lands if I ask him nicely. I’ll have an answer for you by the end of the day, Master Jinn, I promise you. I would suggest you have their petition for joining ready immediately; the sooner we start the proceedings, the sooner they will be protected.”

“With your permission, I will add Naboo as the sponsoring world?”

She shook her head. “You can’t, not without the government’s approval. You may add my name as a supporting official, and once Boss Nass agrees, you may list the Gungan Territories as the place of refuge.”

“Add me as a supporting official, too,” Bail added. “There’s no way I can get approval from the Alderaanian government to allow the clones to settle there before you present your petition, Master Jinn, but I will start the proceedings if you’d like. Alderaan has always been a place that welcomes those in need of a home. Two refuge worlds are better than one, and to hell what the neighbours will think.”

Qui-Gon smiled at him and bowed his head. “That is greatly appreciated, Senator Organa, and I know Rex and Cody will say the same.”

“My staff won’t be in until 0900,” Padmé told him. “You may return then to question them.”

“Yes, Senator,” Qui-Gon acknowledged. As he turned to leave, Obi-Wan’s urgent voice filled his head. _Stay in there!_

Automatically, Qui-Gon’s hand swung out to keep Bail from approaching the door. The Alderaanian frowned at him, but Qui-Gon put his finger to his lips and used the Force to flick the door locking mechanism. He stepped silently towards the door and pressed his ear against the metal. As he closed his eyes, he could concentrate on the voices coming from the other room.

“…unexpected, to see you here, Knight Kenobi. I must say, I hadn’t expected to run into the hero of Naboo this morning!”

Palpatine.

Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder and unconsciously brought a hand to his chest, pressing against his scar. Sharp pains stabbed his nerves, but he felt no skin breaking.

“Wonderful to see you, Chancellor,” came Obi-Wan’s calm, steady voice. “It’s been too long since our last meeting.”

Qui-Gon squashed his ear a little harder against the door, waving at Bail and Padmé to stay back with his free hand. Palpatine’s voice sounded a little closer, then further away, as if … as if he were circling Obi-Wan. “I must say, I was pleased to read the Temple report that you were alive and well. Being away from your brethren for so long must have been difficult.” His voice stabilized in volume; Qui-Gon assumed he was facing Obi-Wan now. “You must have seen many things in your travels.”

“It was hardly dull, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan replied neutrally.

“So many parts of our territory lack the oversight they require. So much suffering by so many, wouldn’t you agree?” Palpatine’s oily words sounded almost pleased under the false regret.

“I would, Chancellor.” Obi-Wan was keeping his answers short and to the point, and Qui-Gon mentally congratulated him. The less Obi-Wan spoke, the less chance of a slip or suspicion.

“Mm. Mm,” Palpatine hummed in agreement. “If you feel that strongly, perhaps you would be interested in joining the planning committee for a humanitarian task force I’m attempting to stand up. You and I could work towards relieving some of that suffering.”

“I’ll certainly consider it, Chancellor.”

“Good, good. Having a handsome young Jedi Knight as the face of the campaign certainly wouldn’t hurt!” Palpatine chuckled to himself. “Well, I must be off. Time stands still for no man, wouldn’t you say? Would you tell Senator Amidala that I stopped by, my dear?”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Eirtaé’s quiet voice said.

“Wonderful. Good day to you, Obi-Wan. May I call you Obi-Wan?”

“Certainly, Chancellor,” replied Obi-Wan, his voice a mask of politeness. Over the bond, Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan shudder with disgust. A moment passed. _He’s gone. You can come out now._

Qui-Gon slammed his hand against the door mechanism and had to fight the urge to wrap Obi-Wan in his arms, to take him home and scrub him until his flesh was pink, to never let him out of his sight again. “What did the Chancellor want?” he said aloud, while asking, _Are you okay, my love?_

_I’m fine. I think. Possibly after a long shower and a stiff drink. Are_ you _all right? Your scar?_ “He dropped by for a chat with Senator Amidala,” Obi-Wan replied. “I did not want to interrupt your meeting, and I thought it best if he was not aware that Senator Organa was meeting with Jedi while the inquiry is still on.”

_Not bleeding. I’ll check it later._ “Smart man,” Bail muttered approvingly.

Padmé nodded to Obi-Wan, then turned confused eyes to her handmaiden. “What did he want? I wasn’t expecting him this morning.”

“He did not say, Senator,” Eirtaé said, and once again Qui-Gon noticed she did not quite make eye contact with her mistress.

“Very well,” Padmé replied. “I will expect you at 0900, Master Jinn. If you’ll excuse me, I have some important transmissions to send.”

At her dismissal, Bail and the Jedi nodded politely and filed out of the Naboo Senatorial offices. Bail turned to Qui-Gon. “Should you need anything on your petition, Master Jinn, please let me know.”

“I will, Senator. Thank you.” Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan watched Bail retreat down the corridor with a troubled set to his shoulders.

“We have enough time to get breakfast before we need to be back here,” Obi-Wan said softly to keep his voice from echoing through the empty hall. “Come on.”

_Did you get anything from Eirtaé?_

_Nothing out loud. I’ll tell you this, though: she’s terrified of Palpatine._ _Something’s happened, Qui. I’m sure of it._

They exchanged troubled looks in silence as they headed to the ‘lifts. For all breakfast out of the Temple was a luxury, made more special with the company, it tasted like ashes in Qui-Gon’s mouth.

*

The Naboo Senatorial offices employed only eight women, all handmaidens who served in every capacity: bodyguards, secretaries, pages, and personal assistants. One was currently on Naboo and had been for a month for vacation, leaving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan seven young ladies to interrogate. Eirtaé, the only blonde among them, stood out for more than her hair colour; she looked miserable and pale. Qui-Gon decided to leave her last, giving her more time to stew about what the Jedi knew and did not know. The first five handmaidens had been forthright and honest, both in their body language and the Force, and Qui-Gon expected the same from Sabé now.

She sat in the chair across from her mistress’ desk, gaze levelled at Padmé. “I have not accessed your terminal without authorization, my lady,” she said, sounding a bit confused at the accusation. “I would never do such a thing.”

Padmé smiled soothingly. “I know, Sabé, but we have to ask. A message was sent from my terminal in this office, and we need to find out who is responsible.”

“Have you seen anyone hanging around Senator Amidala’s office door, or in her office when she has not been present?” asked Qui-Gon, putting just a hint of his intimidating Jedi Master voice into his words.

Shaking her head slowly, Sabé replied, “No, sir. Not that I’ve seen.”

“Any unexpected visitors?” Obi-Wan added.

She flicked her eyes towards Qui-Gon. “No one except you, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon paused for a minute, nodding to himself, then asked, “Has Eirtaé been acting herself lately?”

The question caught both Sabé and Padmé off guard. The latter whipped her head to stare at him, reproach in her eyes. Sabé opened her mouth, closed it again for a moment, then said, “Her kitten was found dead last night. It had gone out onto the balcony, and when she went to let it in, it was lying there, dead.”

“How awful!” Padmé cried. “Why didn’t she say anything?”

“She did not want to bother you, my lady. We’re not even supposed to have pets in our rooms, but my little brother gave it to her on our last trip home because he thought it was the same colour as her hair.” Expression pained, Sabé sighed. “May I go, my lady? I have scheduling for your week waiting.”

Qui-Gon nodded to Padmé, who smiled at her handmaiden. Even without the ceremonial Queen’s makeup, Qui-Gon would have been hard-pressed to tell them apart in a crowd. “Go ahead, Sabé. Thank you. Please send Eirtaé in.”

The handmaidens passed each other in the doorway, and Qui-Gon saw Sabé’s pinky finger deliberately brush against Eirtaé’s. The blonde raised red-rimmed eyes to them and silently took the seat in front of the desk. Through the Force, Qui-Gon could feel the fear rolling off the girl, and he received an agreement from Obi-Wan through the bond. _She’s completely terrified. This is not about her dead cat,_ he told Qui-Gon.

_No, it certainly isn’t._ “Someone sent a scrambled message from Senator Amidala’s computer terminal, and everyone else denies having done so,” Qui-Gon said casually.

“That leaves you, Eirtaé,” Obi-Wan supplied.

The rest of the blood drained from her face, leaving her as white as Dooku’s favourite flimsi. Her fingers were locked together painfully in her lap.

“Did you send the message?” Padmé asked, her voice hard despite the disbelief on her face.

Eirtaé shook her head frantically but said nothing.

“Tell us about your kitten, Eirtaé,” Qui-Gon said gently. The handmaiden burst into tears. Her shoulders shook as she bent double, sobbing silently into her hands. Padmé rose from her desk and was instantly at the girl’s side, rubbing her back and shushing her. Obi-Wan took a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Eirtaé, who pressed it to her mouth.

“Eirtaé, my dear, please, tell me what’s happened,” Padmé urged.

“I-I c-can’t,” she sobbed, her voice a harsh whisper. “They’ll k-kill m-me.”

Padmé’s eyes flew to the Jedi, then back to her handmaiden. “I won’t let anyone kill you. Who threatened you?”

A moment of shuddering breaths filled the office before Eirtaé managed to rasp out, “He didn’t threaten m-me. M-my life, but not me.”

Padme’s hand clenched in frustration. “You’re not making any sense. Tell me what is going on!”

“W-we were working late. Everyone else had gone. The lights went out, and he stepped out of the shadows.” She hiccuped and blew her nose into Obi-Wan’s handkerchief. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. He said that if she didn’t do what he said, he would kill everyone she loved, starting with me and ending with her little brother.”

Padmé drew back. Eyes wide, she whispered, “Sabé.” Eirtaé nodded before sobbing into the handkerchief again.

“He’ll do it. He killed my cat. I know it was him,” she choked out.

“Who, Eirtaé?” urged Padmé.

The blonde’s eyes did not flick to the Jedi. With a deception that impressed even Qui-Gon, she said, “I don’t know who. He hid himself.”

Padmé rose, flicking back her skirts. “Stay here with her. I’ll be right back.” As soon as the door closed behind the Senator, Qui-Gon rushed to kneel next to Eirtaé, ignoring the scream of pain that it caused in his chest.

“Eirtaé, you recognized him, didn’t you?” he said quietly. “You saw something, or you heard something.”

Dread filled the girl’s eyes, but she squared her shoulders. “I heard his voice, and no one could hide a nose and chin like that.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward. “The same visitor we encountered this morning?” he said.

Carefully, the girl nodded once. She made no motion to say anything further, and the silence broke with Padmé and Sabé re-entering the office. Upon seeing the state Eirtaé was in, Sabé rushed over and pulled the blonde into her arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured as Eirtaé buried her face into Sabé’s neck. Sabé made no move to let her go as she looked Padmé square in the face. “I sent the message, my lady. I had no choice. He threatened to kill her and my family.”

Padmé’s lips were tight with frustration. “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me, Sabé? Why didn’t you trust me with this?”

“I think he used the Force, my lady. To show us that he could, that he could reach us no matter what. He choked Eirtaé without laying a finger on her.” She glanced up at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, then added, “He was no Jedi.”

Padmé’s attention turned to the two Jedi in her office. “If not a Jedi, then the S—”

“I think these young ladies need some rest, away from the Senate, until we can sort this out,” Qui-Gon interrupted, tapping his finger against his lips and giving Padmé a meaningful look that clearly said _say no more_. “I hear Alderaan is nice this time of year.”

“I will go nowhere but home,” Sabé retorted, to which Eirtaé made a sound of agreement.

“You certainly can’t stay here,” Padmé announced. “I’ll have Captain Typho arrange transport for you both back to Naboo. You can stay at Varykino. I’ll let my mother know.”

“No, my lady!” protested Eirtaé, twisting out of Sabé’s embrace. At the Senator’s frown, she said, “Please, I would prefer we to go to Alderaan. I fear returning to Naboo would put Sabé’s family in more danger.”

Bewildered, Padmé put her hand to her temple and sighed. “Very well. To be cautious, I will ask Breha Organa to host you both. You go nowhere without Captain Typho until you get onto the cruiser, understood?” Suddenly, her voice became hard. “Sabé.”

“Yes, my lady.” The handmaiden bowed her head, knowing what was coming.

“You lied to my face. I understand the reasons for it, but there will be no place for you until I can trust you again.”

“Yes, my lady. I am sorry.”

With one last, long look at her handmaidens, Padmé turned to the Jedi. “We’ve uncovered the sender of the message, if not the source. I expect you will investigate?”

“We have enough for a few leads, Senator,” replied Qui-Gon.

“Good. I’ll let you get to work now, Master Jinn, Knight Kenobi. Oh, and Master Jinn?”

Qui-Gon turned away from the door to face the young Senator. “Yes?”

“The Senate schedule has dropped a bill reading for tomorrow afternoon. If you have no objection, I’ll submit a request for time and I will yield the floor for the petition. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely, Senator. Thank you.”

_Are you actually ready for this?_ Obi-Wan asked.

_I’m going to have to be. The clones are depending on it._    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, a million thank yous to my beta, Aryax! You always ask the best questions.
> 
> We are marching steadily towards the climax of our story, folks. Hang on to your boots. Things are about to get really bumpy. <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon presents the clone petition to the Senate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of NSFW in the second scene of this chapter.

Qui-Gon spent the rest of his day holed up in his office, hashing out the rest of the proposal for entry into the Republic for the clones. Without complaint, Obi-Wan fell into the role as secretary, just as he had as a young Padawan; he shuffled datapads, always finding the one Qui-Gon needed just before he asked for it, made countless pots of tea, and even disappeared for twenty minutes to bring back a tray of Qui-Gon’s favourite sandwiches for a very late midmeal.

“Oh, Force, I love you,” groaned Qui-Gon as he stretched his arms above his head. He heard several unhappy pops from his spine.

“That’s just the hunger talking,” Obi-Wan teased.

“Certainly not,” retorted Qui-Gon as he rested the datapad in his hand on a precarious stack of datapads filled with volumes of legal statutes and precedents. “I would love you even if you hadn’t brought me sandwiches. I just love you more now.”

With a chuckle, Obi-Wan passed him a plate with a sandwich neatly cut on the diagonal. He took the seat across the desk, crossed his ankle over his other knee and leaned back, plate in hand. They ate in companionable silence. Qui-Gon polished off his meal so quickly he barely tasted it, and he was eyeing the remaining sandwich on the tray when the door chime rang. “It’s not locked,” he called.

Three people was the limit for this tiny office. Mace entered, awkwardly picking his way around a stack of flimsi books about Republic cloning laws that Obi-Wan had brought up from the Archives. “Good afternoon, Mace. You’re looking well after a day at an inquiry,” Qui-Gon said politely.

_Now who’s flirting?_ snickered Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon did not justify the quip with a reaction, which made Obi-Wan grin into his hand.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Mace retorted, giving Obi-Wan a nod of acknowledgement. “What are you working on?”

“Entry proposal for the clones. Senator Amidala is allowing me to use her time tomorrow to present it.”

“And you sent away Rex and Cody, your in-the-flesh representatives of the Kamino clones, the day before you ask the Senate to give them citizenship … why?” Mace drew out the last word as though talking to a particularly stubborn child.

“To keep them away from interacting with a certain person who does not have their best interests at heart,” Qui-Gon said, matching Mace’s tone in irritation. “Until Abella has completed her mission, the clones have to stay away from Coruscant.”

“That’s not going to help their petition.” Mace picked his way over to stand by the window and stared out at the steady lines of air traffic.

“There’s precedent for having only a Jedi represent a world during a petition,” Obi-Wan supplied. “A handful of worlds, but they’re members now.”

Qui-Gon watched his Korun friend, taking in the curve of his shoulders. The man was tired. “You didn’t come here to talk about the clones, I think.”

“Not entirely,” Mace replied with a sigh. “First off, thank you, Obi-Wan, for ensuring the virtue of my Padawan yesterday.”

“You’re welcome, and I’m never doing chaperone duty again,” Obi-Wan quipped.

“I’ve never had an apprentice who sent so many transmissions in a week. Puberty is intolerable,” complained Mace. He shook his head slightly, then abruptly changed the subject. “I came for an update on your meeting with Senator Amidala.”

“It went poorly,” Qui-Gon said flatly. “I’m not certain whether I should say more.”

Mace squinted at him. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if indicating the Temple surveillance system. “Oh! It’s fine now. Temple security found malicious code in the recording equipment for the High Council chambers and in the surveillance systems of the Archives. The code’s been quarantined. We’re still investigating what the code was actually doing.” Mace watched as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a near-panicked look. “What did I say?”

“The Archives,” choked out Qui-Gon. “If the Sith has recordings of what transpires in the Archives, then he knows that we have Zannah’s holocron. He knows what we discussed.”

Mace snapped out a Huttese curse that involved machinery, which meant he probably learned it from Anakin. “What exactly did you discuss with the Sith holocron, Qui-Gon?” he demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

“Maul,” replied Qui-Gon before he could steel himself to admit the truth about his injury to his friend. “Which, if I recall your vision correctly, could become a problem for us.”

“Not a chance. I had the Naboo find him in the melting pit in the post-invasion kerfuffle. They burned his body under my orders. I watched them do it. Maul’s dead. As dead as you can get.”

“So any argument that he’s alive doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” deadpanned Obi-Wan.

Both Mace and Qui-Gon stared at him. “Little gods, how long have you been waiting to make that terrible joke?” asked Mace. He looked both disgusted and a little impressed.

Obi-Wan grinned. “ _Years._ It was worth the wait.”

“If Maul’s dead, then our Sith is down two apprentices. No Maul, no Tyrannus,” Qui-Gon mused.

“And no Ventress, either,” added Mace.

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. “Who’s Ventress?”

“Tyrannus’ apprentice. A child, full of fear and anger and loss, who needed someone to love her and guide her,” said Qui-Gon softly. “Instead, Tyrannus used her and twisted her into a creature of the dark side.”

“She’s probably just a little kid right now,” breathed Mace. “Oh, I do not need this on my plate, too. So our Sith likely has no trusted apprentice to carry out work for him.”

“Which explains why he threatened Senator Amidala’s handmaidens himself,” Obi-Wan suggested. “He’s getting a little sloppy, having to do everything himself.”

“And he miscalculated in threatening those girls,” Qui-Gon added. “Eirtaé was not so blinded by politics to assume there was no way the person threatening bodily harm with the Force could be someone she knew. Someone respected and powerful.”

“So our Sith is personally manipulating this inquiry that I’ve been sitting in all week. He’s getting bolder.” Mace rubbed a hand over his bald head and abruptly changed the subject. “Anything else you covered in your chat with Zannah?”

Qui-Gon hesitated until he saw Obi-Wan give him a tiny nod. _Tell him, Qui. If we are going to succeed in bringing Sidious down, we can’t afford to keep secrets from each other._

“Zannah told me that my injury was healed with a spontaneous, unskilled use of the dark side,” Qui-Gon said in the most clinically detached voice he could muster. Studiously, he kept his eyes on Mace’s face to avoid looking at Obi-Wan. “She told me that it would never heal, and that exposure to those wielding the dark side would cause my scar further harm. Her warning seems to be accurate, given my injury’s reaction to meeting Palpatine.”

Mace said nothing for a long moment. Then he turned and faced the window, where the late afternoon light limned his dark features. When he spoke, his words were quiet. “Knight Kenobi, did you intentionally use the dark side to heal your Master on Naboo?”

“No, Master Windu,” replied Obi-Wan. His voice was barely a whisper. “I was afraid, and angry, and I begged the Force to help me save his life. I would not be able to do it again.”

Ten heartbeats passed before Mace said, “I should report this to the Reconciliation Council.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “I await your orders, Master Windu, and will do what you command.”

Silence covered the room like a blanket of snow; Qui-Gon dared not interrupt for the sake of defending his lover. A full minute passed with the three men appearing to be statues. Mace finally turned away from the window, and to everyone’s surprise, rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I think, perhaps, you’ve suffered enough, Obi-Wan. Four years is a long time.” Mace lifted his hand and moved to the door, then added over his shoulder, “May the Force be with you in the Senate tomorrow.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get,” Qui-Gon replied. Mace inclined his head and left. Qui-Gon grabbed one half of a sandwich and the datapad from the top of the pile. The quiet contemplation filtering over the bond kept him from saying anything as Obi-Wan silently topped up their teacups and reorganized the stacks of datapads.

While Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan worked, five hundred encrypted messages, piggybacked onto regular comm traffic, left the Jedi Temple to reach every corner of the galaxy.

*

The wait was intolerable. Qui-Gon fought the urge to pace, to twitch his fingers, to stroke his beard or tap his toes. The laundry droid had put too much starch on his under tunic, possibly revenge for all the recent bloodstains, and the itch was distracting. Padmé’s handmaidens had squirrelled him away in what he was certain had once been a closet; it now held a single stuffed chair that pulled out into a bed (he had checked, out of curiosity) and a reading lamp with a gentle curve. A chrono hung above the door. There was no window, which only served to enforce his closet theory. Without a mirror, he could do nothing to check his appearance, but his fingers moved to settle the lines of his formal silk tunics. His lightsaber, meticulously checked for blood after his encounter with Palpatine, hung at his belt; it was both frustrating and soothing to have it there—soothing to have it in the same building as a Sith, frustrating to remember he could not wield it properly without catastrophic injury.

The chrono read only one minute since the last time he checked it. Nineteen more to go until he escorted Padmé to her Senate seat. Damn it all, he had done this before. He had helped other worlds petition for entry into the Senate. He had addressed the Senate to do so.

But not since he nearly died on Naboo.

With a deep exhale, he closed his eyes and tried to still his mind. He heard the door hiss open and close again. Cracking his eyelids, he came face to face with Obi-Wan, who had an odd look on his fair face.

“What are you doing here?” Qui-Gon asked, keeping his voice low in the small space.

“You are very distracting this morning,” whispered Obi-Wan. He walked slowly towards Qui-Gon, who instinctively backed up until he hit the wall. “You’re a ball of impatience and worry in my head. I can’t get anything done.”

“I’m sorry, I—” Obi-Wan swallowed whatever Qui-Gon was going to say with a searing kiss. He broke away and put his mouth next to Qui-Gon’s ear.

“You need to relax. I may have played the notice-me-not game to get past everyone outside, so we have to be very, very,” he nipped Qui-Gon’s earlobe, “ _quiet._ ”

Obi-Wan’s hands were quickly unbuttoning Qui-Gon’s fly, but he paused to wait for Qui-Gon’s reply. He bit his lip, closing his eyes and nodding. This was insane. Someone was going to hear them. Someone was going to walk in. “Not if we’re quiet, but you’re right, the door’s unlocked,” Obi-Wan whispered. “And keep your eyes open. I want you to watch me.”

The hot breath on his ear vanished, leaving a cold void as Obi-Wan knelt in front of him. His copper Knight took great care to tuck tunic fabric safely into Qui-Gon’s belt before bending his head. Heat enveloped him, already halfway there from the sheer _audaciousness_ of his lover. Obi-Wan’s talented tongue would be the death of him. When Obi-Wan brought his hand up to gently fondle Qui-Gon’s balls through the fabric of his trousers, Qui-Gon could not keep his eyes open any more. He squeezed them shut and rolled his head back to rest against the wall, fighting the urge to moan encouragement. His hips stuttered, breaking Obi-Wan’s rhythm; Obi-Wan pressed his other hand firmly against Qui-Gon’s hipbone to steady him.

_Quietly,_ Obi-Wan reminded him. _Do you know what this does to me? Seeing you undone, fully clothed, cheeks flushed, knowing that I’m doing this to you when anyone could walk in?_

It took all of Qui-Gon’s willpower to stay silent as he came. His heart pounded against his ribs, and his legs felt a little unsteady as Obi-Wan tucked him gently back into his trousers and buttoned his fly. He carefully replaced the tunics, smoothing and fussing until they were perfect. Qui-Gon pulled him in for a deep kiss and tasted himself on Obi-Wan’s tongue. “Do you know how insane you are?” he whispered with a silly smile.

“Do you know how much more relaxed you are?” replied Obi-Wan, his smile just as wide. “Now I can finally get some work done today.”

Qui-Gon was about to bend his head and kiss his lover again, but the door hissed open and Obi-Wan stepped away from his embrace as though they had been discussing the weather. Padmé stood in the door, resplendent in a lavender gown and a matching headpiece resting upon braided buns covering her ears. She looked years older than she was. “Obi-Wan! I was not aware you were here,” she said, surprised.

“Just bringing Qui-Gon his back up notes, Senator. We would not want him to address the Senate ill-prepared,” Obi-Wan said, sketching a small bow to her. “I’ll be watching the address from the Temple, as I have to teach somersaults to a class of crèchelings today.”

“Oh!” Padmé said with a delighted smile. “No rest for the wicked?”

Qui-Gon managed to not choke, but Obi-Wan shrugged with self-deprecation. “None at all, Senator. May the Force be with you both,” he added, manners impeccable and face neutral, while Qui-Gon still stood speechless at the impudence of his lover.

_I don’t even know what to do with you._

_I have a few ideas, but they’ll have to wait. Good luck, Qui-Gon._

_I don’t believe in luck, Obi-Wan,_ retorted Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan’s retreating back.

_I’ve spent too much time in the Outer Rim not to believe in luck, or at least, bad luck,_ Obi-Wan said. _So_ good _luck. I’ll meet you at home._

_I look forward to it._ Qui-Gon turned his full attention to Padmé and offered her a crooked elbow. He placed a light shield over his bond with Obi-Wan to keep himself focused on his task. “Shall we, Senator?”

The young woman slid her hand around Qui-Gon’s arm and rested her fingers lightly on the inside of his elbow. “We shall, Master Jedi.”

*

The walk to the actual Senate chamber was longer than Qui-Gon expected, but given Naboo’s relative unimportance and small population, it was not surprising that their assigned offices were so far away. They said nothing between them, as any conversation would have been interrupted every time they encountered another Senator on their way to the chamber. Another handmaiden, Cordé, if Qui-Gon recalled her name from yesterday’s questioning, trailed behind them with a datapad for recording notes. They slowed as they approached the closest entrance to the chamber; the press of bodies was thick here as people jostled each other through the door.

Qui-Gon felt Padmé turn away from him, and he saw a hand on her shoulder before he heard the voice. “Ah, Senator Amidala, a pleasure, as always! Master Jinn, I thought that was you.” Sheev Palpatine, formally dressed in the robes of the Chancellor, wore a genial smile. The instant, stabbing pain in Qui-Gon’s chest would normally have left him doubled over, but he ignored it. He had to ignore it. Ignore it and say nothing.

Padmé offered the barest hint of a curtsey. “Your Excellency. I appreciate you allowing Master Jinn to speak during my allotted time.”

Palpatine waved his hand in the air as if brushing her thanks aside. “It’s your time, my dear, and if you wish to yield the floor to Master Jinn, that is your prerogative.” He turned his amused eyes to Qui-Gon, who thought they now held far more malice. “I only wish I had had the opportunity to meet your clones before bringing their petition to the floor, but given their absence from Coruscant, that is now impossible.”

Someone was cutting him with a knife, surely. The edges of his vision pulsed in time with the sharp agony in his chest. Qui-Gon inhaled slowly through his nose, desperate to not show any hint of distress. He had to stay upright. “My apologies, Your Excellency. Rex and Cody offered to assist our Healers with a training mission. I think Coruscant was a touch overwhelming for them.”

Palpatine made a sympathetic noise through his closed mouth. “Indeed,” he said. “All these clones. So many potential problems for the Jedi. If you’ll excuse me, Senator, I must attend my place. Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, exhaling noisily through his nose. The throbbing of his scar beat a counterpoint to his heart, which was wildly out of control. Ever the perceptive one, Padmé peered up at him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, Senator,” he managed to grind out. “You told him about the petition?”

She glanced at him curiously. “Of course. He’s the Chancellor of the Republic, after all. At the very least, it’s a professional courtesy to not drop an entry petition on him by surprise.”

“Of course,” acknowledged Qui-Gon, more faintly than he would have liked. Their passage to the Naboo repulsorpod was a blur of pain as he concentrated on standing and walking normally. Padmé kept glancing at him surreptitiously, a worried line appearing between her brows, but she said nothing. She guided him to the pod, and once inside he took the opportunity to fish out the single, lint-covered pain pill rattling around the bottom of his belt pouch. Four years and he had never had to use it, but he replaced it faithfully every time Abella refilled his script. Cordé was helping to adjust Padmé’s skirt, and they both had their backs to him. As he bent his head to meet his hand, his eyes caught the bright red stain seeping into through his tunics and into the edge of his obi sash.

The roar of applause overwhelmed his ears as every Senator banged their hands or other appendages on the front of the pods to announce the beginning of the session. There was no time to fix this, no way to change his tunics. He popped the pill in his mouth and ground it with his teeth, glad Abella was on route to Kamino so he would not have to hear an ear-piercing lecture on liver damage and not taking medicine correctly. The bitter taste coated his mouth as he gathered enough saliva to swallow the grainy bits. He gathered the edges of his cloak in his fingers and wrapped them over his bloodied tunics just as Padmé turned to face him. “Ready?” she mouthed, her voice lost to the din.

He nodded once. He had no choice. The pain was still there, stabbing into his body. He was a Jedi Master. Rex and Cody and all the clones were depending on his performance.

He told himself that this was not the worst diplomatic situation he had ever encountered.

He could not help but despair at the irony of standing in a hovering representation of Naboo, about to face the Sith.

Palpatine’s voice boomed throughout the dome. “I call this session to order,” he announced. Mas Amedda seemed to be absent that day, leaving the Chancellor in charge of controlling the procedure. The Senators quieted, awaiting the first item on the agenda. When Palpatine’s voice spoke again, it was streamed through a set of speakers in the pod instead. “The first speaker of the day is Senator Amidala, the representative of Naboo and the Chommell Sector.”

A smattering of applause greeted Padmé as Cordé activated the pod controls and lifted them up to the Chancellor’s podium. Once in position, Padmé pressed her microphone control and spoke normally, facing those in the podium. “Thank you, Chancellor. I would yield the floor to Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn for my allotted time.” At the word Jedi, more than a few jeers floated through the chamber.

“Order,” Palpatine said, his tone automatic and almost bored. “Senator Amidala yields the floor, as is her prerogative. Master Jinn, the floor is yours.”

The young women stepped aside as much as the pod allowed so Qui-Gon could take centre stage. He kept his hands folded in front of him and hoped he looked serene as he kept his cloak covering his tunics. “Thank you, Your Excellency. I would like to present to you and the Senate a petition for membership into the Galactic Republic. The clones recently discovered on Kamino humbly request the rights of citizenship within Republic borders. They hold no citizenship on Kamino, and are at risk of exploitation without the protections afforded with membership.”

Palpatine did not have to say a word. Before Qui-Gon even finished his opening statement, he could hear the rising static of angry mutters from every side. Lott Dod was already maneuvering his pod to the Podium, gaping indignantly. “The Trade Federation protests! The Jedi were the ones who created an army of clones, and now they want to give the fruit of their seditious actions legal status in the Republic?!”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to reply, but Padmé beat him to it. “I was not aware that the inquiry into the production of the clones had finished and the findings made available to the Senate, Senator Dod,” she snapped, her voice as flat and brooking no argument as it had been in the depths of the invasion. Had Qui-Gon been merely a spectator, watching her take her old enemy to task would have been highly enjoyable. “I protest that Master Jinn has not finished the petition before you interrupted him, and I ask that the rules of this session be enforced, Chancellor.”

Palpatine seemed almost amused, but he nodded. “You are out of order, Senator Dod.” Dod spluttered a bit, but said nothing. “Continue, Master Jinn.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon acknowledged, suppressing a shudder under the watery gaze of the Sith. “As per the precedents of the Khomm, I submit that a society that reproduces solely via cloning has merit as members of the Republic. As Kamino is not a member of the Republic, the clones of Kamino seek membership as a nomadic group, similar to the Vestar and the Alwari.”

The mutters rose in volume, and Qui-Gon’s ears picked out a few shouts that disparaged the nomadic lifestyle. Notably, “filthy spacers” reached him. He inhaled slowly to keep his temper in. “The further details and legal precedents for their admission into the Republic have been submitted for the Senate’s review and debate.”

Palpatine held a datapad in his hand, humming over it. “And for all they wish to join us here in this magnificent feat of democracy, they could not be bothered to present their petition in person, Master Jinn?” he said, his disapproving voice holding the tiniest hint of mockery.

Qui-Gon met his gaze, unblinking. He struggled for a moment to breathe through the throb in his chest. “The clones have asked that I represent them in this matter, as is their right.”

He felt Padmé’s gentle touch on his elbow, and he stepped aside slightly to allow her access to the microphone. “The Gungans of Naboo have offered their territory as a home for the clones of Kamino, Chancellor. Boss Nass’ official offer has been attached to the petition, and as they do not fall under the government of Naboo nor hold a seat in this chamber, this offer may not be altered nor have conditions placed upon it by the Senate.” She glanced around, pursing her lips at the increasing growl of disapproval rising in the room. “Naboo will not stand by and watch sentient individuals with no rights, no matter how they were created, be used as a military force by anyone. Slavery is illegal in the Galactic Republic, and slaves are exactly what the Kaminoans are creating.”

“Created by the Jedi!” someone yelled.

“Traitors!”

The undercurrent of the room was quickly devolving into anger and fear, and it seemed as though Palpatine savoured it for a moment before he held his hands up. “Order! I demand order! The motion before us requires a second—”

“Alderaan seconds,” Bail Organa’s voice piped through the speakers.

“Alderaan seconds the motion,” Palpatine said smoothly.

A soft translator droid’s voice carried over Palpatine’s last word. “Senator Yarua of Kashyyyk motions to postpone to allow time for the Senate to consider the documents provided on this matter.”

“Chandrila seconds.”

“Motion passes. We will postpone debate on this question until the next session. Thank you, Master Jinn and Senator Amidala. Next on the floor is …” Palpatine’s voice droned in Qui-Gon’s ears as Cordé piloted the pod back to its resting place.

Padmé patted him on the arm; the expression of pain mixed with parliamentary frustration on his face must have been impressive. “Postponed for debate. That went a lot better than I expected,” she said softly.

Frowning, Qui-Gon tightened his grip on his cloak. “That did not go well. Did you hear them?”

Padmé’s eyes burned with anger. “I did, Master Jinn. Believe me when I tell you I will not let this end here.”

The weight of knowing the Sith held the highest office in the galaxy combined with the pain in his chest that had diminished only to a vitriolic throbbing drained all his mental energy. Qui-Gon could not muster a reply.

*

He was staring at his scar in the ‘fresher mirror, gripping the edge of the sink as though it were a lifeline, when he heard Obi-Wan enter their quarters. “Qui?” he called from the sitting room.

“In here,” replied Qui-Gon, his voice hoarse. He watched Obi-Wan’s reflection approach him.

“What are you doing?” asked Obi-Wan curiously. When Qui-Gon made no move to turn around, he placed his hand on Qui-Gon’s bare shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“The first time I came face to face with the Chancellor, you found me lying in my own blood with barely any recollection of how I made it home. The second time I was in his presence, in Amidala’s office, there was no blood. Pain, but it was bearable. The third time was this morning, after we parted ways.” Qui-Gon turned his head to lock eyes with Obi-Wan, who was gently prodding Qui-Gon’s hip to get a better view of his injury. At the sight of dried blood rimming the scar tissue, he exhaled slowly. “Zannah said that blood calls to blood, that the darkness in my injury responds to the presence of the dark side.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t imagine anything darker than a Sith Master,” he said quietly. Without being asked, he pulled the med kit out of the drawer and opened it on the counter. He withdrew the little glass jar of bacta and held it between his hands to warm it.

“Then why didn’t I bleed the second time? There was a door between us, but a door doesn’t stop the Force. He was as close to me then as he was the first time. We were even in the same damned place as the first time!” he growled in frustration.

“Take off your pants,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon glared at him.

“I’m not really in the mood for that,” he snapped.

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. “I meant for you to have a shower to wash off all that blood, Qui. I can’t put bacta on until you’re clean.”

Abashed, Qui-Gon’s shoulders drooped. “Sorry.” Obi-Wan smiled, apology accepted. He turned the water on while Qui-Gon unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of the loose fabric. “I wouldn’t mind some company. Lifting my arms still hurts.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replied, voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. Qui-Gon stepped into the shower, savouring the hot water on his back, and Obi-Wan tugged off his pants and socks before following. “What’s this blood calls to blood nonsense?” he asked, clearly trying to sound casual when Qui-Gon could feel the quavery thread of upset over the bond.

“That’s what Zannah told me. That the dark side calls to itself,” replied Qui-Gon, turning sideways so Obi-Wan was not bereft of hot water. “Dooku has strongly suggested that I do not repeat it to anyone, because apparently it’s a Sith belief.”

“I find it troubling that he knows about it.” Obi-Wan lathered a bar of soap between his hands.

“Your grand-Master has a long history of studying the Sith, and I have no doubt that he has gone into greater details than even rumours suggest,” said Qui-Gon, wincing a bit as Obi-Wan hit a ticklish spot by his navel while applying soap to a bloodstain.

“Do you think Zannah was telling you the truth?” Gentle, soapy fingers rubbed circles on Qui-Gon’s belly. The soap mixed with blood swirled a pale rust at the bottom of the shower.

“I’m not entirely sure. There’s no reason for her to lie, but there’s every reason for her to lie. A dishonest holocron defeats the purpose of a holocron, and yet, she’s the imprint of a Sith. Lying and obfuscation in the pursuit of chaos is practically their bailiwick.” Qui-Gon tried to pluck the soap out of Obi-Wan’s hand, feeling odd letting Obi-Wan do this for him, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Let me. Please.” Qui-Gon hesitated, but the earnest look on Obi-Wan’s face made him nod in assent. Obi-Wan continued to spread the soap lather over Qui-Gon’s chest. “I suppose it comes down to whether Zannah being truthful was more beneficial to her than lying to you.”

“What kind of benefit does a holocron get?” Qui-Gon mused. As Obi-Wan’s fingers approached the scar, he placed his hand over the Knight’s and showed him the delicate pressure required to prevent further injury.

“That I don’t know. Siri, Seressk, and I never tried to open the damned thing. A question for Dooku, perhaps,” replied Obi-Wan. “I’m concerned, Qui. You’ve spent four years on Coruscant, but you find the clones and suddenly you encounter _him_ three times in a row? That’s not a coincidence.” He stopped his unrelenting scrubbing at the blood caked on Qui-Gon’s skin and locked eyes with Qui-Gon.

“I’m not chalking anything up to coincidence these days,” murmured Qui-Gon. A sudden question popped into his mind, free from the confines of medication haze and exhaustion. “Like why Dooku found me talking to Zannah in the middle of the night. What was he doing there himself?”

Obi-Wan shifted away, checking Qui-Gon over for any missed blood still clinging to his body. “I think it’s time for a visit with my grand-Master.”

Qui-Gon was so troubled that he forgot the fact that he was ensconced in a shower with the man he loved. He let the soap rinse off his chest and turned the water off. “Right now, I think.”

*

Dooku had clearly not been expecting company that evening. Dressed in a set of matching pyjamas that looked almost new and a dove grey silk dressing gown tied overtop, he looked surprised to see the two men who made up his masterly lineage. A cup of steaming tea sat on the low table next to the couch behind him. “You could have called first,” he said by way of greeting, allowing them entry as he returned to his spot on the couch.

“Apologies, Master. We were in a hurry,” Qui-Gon replied, taking the other end of the couch and sinking down with a wince.

“Pot of tea’s on the counter,” Dooku announced to the room, and Obi-Wan took the unsubtle hint. He disappeared into the small kitchen and returned with two cups, one of which he held out for an appreciative Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan took the remaining chair, an overstuffed antique abomination that Qui-Gon had not been allowed to touch as a Padawan. “So what is so important that you interrupted my evening?”

“Two things, grand-Master,” Obi-Wan replied before summarizing Qui-Gon’s interactions with Palpatine. As he spoke, Dooku’s face seemed to pale, but his hawklike gaze did not falter. “We want to know if a Sith holocron can lie.”

Dooku shifted, leaning back onto the arm of the couch. “An interesting question. A Jedi holocron is not capable of lying, though it has the necessary function of restricting information the gatekeeper senses is not appropriate for the person interacting with it. In a sense, a Jedi holocron could lie by omission, but I’ve never heard of such an instance. Generally, the gatekeeper indicates that the restricted information is, in fact, restricted.”

“But Zannah’s holocron is not a Jedi holocron,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“No, it isn’t.” Dooku paused for a moment to pluck his teacup from the table, but did not drink from it. Instead, he pondered the dark surface of the liquid inside for a moment. “But Sith holocrons, despite being steeped in the dark side and forged with ritual, are still at their cores merely holocrons. They are repositories for knowledge. The gatekeeper of a Sith holocron is still made up of programming based on the original person’s neural networks. They are, no matter how dark, a glorified indexing system.”

“You haven’t answered the question,” Qui-Gon told him flatly.

“Haven’t I?” retorted Dooku. “How can an indexing system whose purpose is to guide the user through vast quantities of stored information lie, Qui-Gon? Holocron Zannah might seem alive, might respond to us the way she would have in life, but she is programmed that way. She’s not a real person anymore. She is not an AI with the capacity to learn and create new content. She’s a holocron gatekeeper, that’s all. She cannot lie. Whether or not she told you the whole truth? That I cannot tell you.” His voice became quiet at the end, sensitive to the stricken looks on both of his guests’ faces. “I suppose that’s not the answer you wanted to hear.”

Qui-Gon inhaled a little noisily. So Zannah had not lied about the healing of his injury. A little voice niggled at him about whether there could be more to glean from the holocron, but he shoved it away. No more holocrons; not tonight. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “I also want to know why you were there in the holocron room the other night. You berated me for what I did, but why were you down there, too?”

Looking slightly offended at the implication, Dooku huffed. “I put a notification subroutine into the door lock. If anyone opened the door, I would know about it.”

“And why would _you_ do that, Master?” Qui-Gon asked, squinting at him a little suspiciously.

“Because I’ve met _you_ , Padawan,” Dooku retorted primly. “And all the evidence would suggest that I was right to do it.”

Qui-Gon gaped at him. Of all the meddling, distrustful things! Obi-Wan, sensing the tension mounting in the room, pushed himself out of the chair and bowed slightly to his grand-Master. “Thank you for your help,” he told Dooku. “We shall leave you to your evening’s rest.”

Qui-Gon grumbled under his breath as he tried to escape the couch; Obi-Wan wordlessly offered him a hand and helped pull him upright. With unblinking eyes, Dooku watched them. Then he dropped his gaze and looked into his cup. “Someone noted to me today that the two of you are spending quite a lot of time together,” he said quietly. “I told them that Obi-Wan had been gone for a long time, and that you are working on a project together.”

With a wince of guilt at putting his old Master in the position of having to defend them, of having to smooth over rumours of impropriety, Qui-Gon replied, “Master, you don’t …you don’t need to …”

At that, Dooku’s eyes snapped up. His voice was an odd mix of tension and dismissal. “I said nothing that was not true, Qui-Gon. Now let me finish these reports in peace and quiet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Welcome back! (My lovely beta Aryax told me to tell you all that it's her fault for the delay in the chapter, but I would say her epic technological breakdowns over the holidays was not her fault and it gave me time to write almost to the end of this ridiculously long story!)
> 
> Thanks, as ever, to Aryax for her beta skills, and to Tygermama for her assistance with this chapter! Anyone interested can check me out on the ol' Tumbles for heads up on updates and writing snippets.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inquiry returns its findings.

An extremely tense week crawled by, with Qui-Gon constantly imagining he had heard his comm chime, or his computer terminal sound an alert for a new message. There was no time scheduled in the Senate for the postponed debate on the clones’ entry into the Republic, and the inquiry into the clones’ creation was now in closed session to write their findings. Qui-Gon found himself ensconced more often than not in Mace Windu’s much larger office, where four monitors had been dragged in and set up to broadcast various news feeds from the Holonet. Mid-week, he bore two large cups, one with tea for himself and the other with strong, sweetened caff for Mace, and used the Force to press the doorbell. The door slid open, revealing a pristine office occupied by a slumped Jedi Master wearing wrinkled robes.

Behind his desk, Mace had the thousand-yard stare and bloodshot of someone who had not slept for quite some time. He took the caff Qui-Gon offered him without taking his eyes off the monitor. “Did you see this?” Mace said, gesturing vaguely at the first screen.

Qui-Gon scanned the ticker running across the bottom of the screen. _Anti-clone, anti-Jedi protests spread to 5,000 Republic worlds._ Above the headline, the muted images of angry crowds swarming city squares flickered in sequence. He caught glimpses of homemade signs: “No Standing Army!” “Clone Soldiers=Dead Citizens” “Fuck the Jedi!” “No Meat Clankers!” “Where’s the money?” With a deep sigh, Qui-Gon took the empty seat opposite Mace and set his cup on the desk. “Fuck us, indeed,” he said mildly.

“Oh, that’s not even the worst of it,” Mace retorted. He flicked his finger over his monitor control, and on the second monitor, the perfectly coiffed and proper Duchess Satine of Mandalore appeared.

“Mandalore will never agree to the formation of a standing army within the borders of the Republic,” she announced. She cocked her head, listening to a reporter buried in the scrum around her, and nodded. “Mandalore owes much to the Jedi Order. However, our past gratitude does not erase our responsibility to uncover the truth around these clone soldiers and the Jedi Order’s culpability in their creation.”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” Qui-Gon muttered.

“Have you heard anything from Abella?” Mace asked suddenly. He blew across the surface of his caff before taking a tentative sip. “Huh. I should make you my secretary. You make better caff than he does. He skimps on the sweetener.”

“I already have a job thanks to you,” grumbled Qui-Gon. “I’ve had one message, just before they left Rishi for Kamino. I doubt I’ll get another one until after the clones are on Naboo, unless something goes wrong. The mission specified radio silence.” He eyed Mace’s continued unfocused stare and cleared his throat. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Hmm? I don’t remember. I may have napped on my couch?” He waved his fingers over at the narrow piece of furniture tucked under the window.

Qui-Gon stood and plucked the cup of caff out of Mace’s hands. The Korun made a noise of protest. “Go home, Mace. Sleep. You’re setting a terrible example for your Padawan.”

Mace grimaced, but stood behind his desk. “You’re probably right.” Just before he turned the monitors off, a breaking news alert blared across all the screens. A Mon Calamari reporter began to speak, and Mace turned the volume up.

“This news organization has received a tip from members working in the Galactic Senate. It is still unverified, but reports suggest that the money used to pay for the creation of a clone soldier army on the non-Republic world of Kamino was skimmed from a variety of sources, including the Jedi Order, the Agri-Corps, the Medi-Corps, and other Jedi-affiliated organizations that receive public funding. Sources refused to comment further and have asked for their identities to remain secret as they do not have authorization to speak to the press.”

Mace was pinching the bridge of his nose. “What was that about fuck us?”

“This has to be Palpatine. _We_ still haven’t been able to figure out where that money came from,” retorted Qui-Gon.

“I just hope Bail has enough pull with Yarua that this inquiry comes out in our favour.” Mace sighed and shut off the monitors with a stab of his finger. “I don’t know what else to do, Qui-Gon,” he said softly. “I’m responsible for the entire Jedi Order, and I don’t know what else to do.”

Qui-Gon walked around the desk and herded Mace to the office door. “Get some sleep, Mace. You need a clear head, and there’s nothing to be done but wait.”

Mace nodded, his eyes filled with tired bewilderment, and wandered off in the direction of his quarters. Qui-Gon watched his friend’s retreating back with rising anxiety that never quite fled for the rest of the week.

Qui-Gon filled his days with Council meetings and research for the clone petition, studiously trying to avoid flicking his computer terminal to the increasingly depressing news cycle. His nights were spent with Obi-Wan, who offered his daylight hours assisting Initiate lightsaber classes and teaching gymnastics to the young children. The younglings were in love with him, and he seemed incapable of keeping the proper stern visage of a Jedi instructor. Every day the Temple seemed a little smaller, a little more restrictive. Waiting, even for the most patient Jedi Master, was becoming intolerable.

Finally—finally!—Qui-Gon received a message from Senator Amidala at the end of the week, asking for another visit to the Temple that afternoon. He quickly replied from his tiny office with a quick and cordial affirmative, then alerted Temple security of her expected arrival time. Instead of comming Obi-Wan, he decided to pass the time by tracking him down on foot. The halls of the Temple were busier than usual. He had to stop and greet several Masters who he had not seen since before Naboo, and one of them actually walked past him, turned around, and came back to say hello.

Sta-Den Eekin pulled his muzzle into a smile. “Qui-Gon Jinn, while I live and breathe! How long has it been?”

Qui-Gon clasped the man’s forearm in greeting. “How long have you been out on Maryx Minor?”

“Too long,” Eekin replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Sounds like you’ve been spending too much time with the Pessimists,” chuckled Qui-Gon.

“Yep. Even this awfully vague recall to the Temple was enough to get me on the first ship away from those bloody downers.” Eekin’s eyes darted around them before he leaned in to ask, “What is going on, Qui-Gon? The rumours are flying about everything from Master Yoda dying to a Sith Lord.”

“I’m sorry, Sta-Den. I can’t say. I can promise you that you will find out. Soon. Don’t listen to the rumour mill.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s need to know, and you don’t need to know yet.”

The Klatoonian drew back. His smile vanished, and his eyes hardened. “Very well, Councilor Jinn.”

“Sta-Den, I _can’t_ tell you,” replied Qui-Gon in exasperation. Surely the secrecy required by the High Council was not that unusual?

“As for the rumour mill?” Eekin brushed past him. “You should perhaps take care with what people are saying about you and your former apprentice, Qui-Gon. A High Councilor should set a better example.”

Qui-Gon was left gaping in the middle of the corridor, watching his crèchemate hurry away with no glance back over his shoulder. Clearly the stress of the situation was stretching all of them. _Damn it all_.

*

He finally found Obi-Wan in the training salles and took the time to watch from the viewing window to help his nerves settle.

In the salle, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka Tano were barefooted and each wielding two lightsabers. Obi-Wan’s familiar blue blade, dimmed to training strength, clashed with a green shoto, while Ahsoka had a matched pair of orange ‘sabers with one shorter than the other. The look of concentration on the Togrutan girl’s face was commendable as she crossed her blades in front of her and did a backflip. She wobbled a bit at the landing, but the proud smile on Obi-Wan’s face told Qui-Gon that they had been practicing this move for a while without success. Ahsoka broke into a grin. Qui-Gon tapped his knuckles on the transparisteel to get their attention before entering the salle.

The enthusiasm rolling off Ahsoka was, frankly, delightful. “Did you see that, Master Qui-Gon? I did it!” He nodded and offered her a smile.

“Now you just need to do that in your exam tomorrow, and you’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan told her as he deactivated his ‘sabers. She followed suit after he gave her pointed look at her still-glowing blades. “If you’re going to practice some more, make sure you have a spotter, okay? I don’t need Master Tigna coming after me for not reinforcing safety regs. She’d have me scrubbing the salles with a toothbrush.”

Ahsoka giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand. “Yes, Knight Kenobi. Skyguy could use some time away from his quarters. I’ll ask him.”

“What’s going on with Anakin?” Qui-Gon asked her.

“Oh, ever since he saw Senator Amidala, he’s hidden himself in his room during free time.” She made a disgusted face. “He’s so boring. What could he possibly be doing that’s more fun than ‘saber practice?”

Qui-Gon did his best to not laugh, while Obi-Wan actually had to turn his back and put the training ‘saber back in the locking cabinet on the wall to hide his amusement. “Sounds like Anakin could use the distraction, Ahsoka,” Qui-Gon finally said. “Don’t take no for an answer.”

She nodded forcefully, with a determined set to her mouth. “Will do, Master Qui-Gon. He may be taller than I am, but I’m sneaky. Master Piell tells us to ‘go for the knees when your opponent has the advantage of height.’” She managed a decent impression of the Lannik Master. The appearance of her sharp canines made her smile a touch terrifying.

“I’ll be sure to watch out for Master Piell in the future,” Qui-Gon quipped dryly.

Obi-Wan returned, holding out his hands for Ahsoka’s ‘sabers. “Don’t send anyone to the Healers, Ahsoka,” he warned, cocking his eyebrow at her.

“Yes, Knight Kenobi. Oh! I’m late for latemeal,” she chirped as she passed the hilts over to him, then giggled a bit when she realized what she had said. Continuing into a low bow, she added, “Thank you for the lesson, Master.” Then she was off, tearing out of the salle towards the Initiate’s refectory at high speed.

Obi-Wan stood, staring after her, much in the same way as their first meeting. “Will she ever stop surprising me?” he mused softly.

Qui-Gon chuckled. “That one? I doubt it, _Master_ Kenobi.”

His lover glared at him for the teasing. “I’m not ready to be a Master,” he protested. Qui-Gon lay a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I know, Obi-Wan, and she’s too young to be a Padawan yet. But if you’re sure, my love, you should let the Council of First Knowledge know your intentions. You wouldn’t want someone to poach her.”

Obi-Wan turned his driest look on him. “They could try, but they might have their knees taken out in protest.”

Laughter bubbled up through Qui-Gon, and he found himself wiping tears from his eyes. “That girl. You love her already, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan did not need to answer. The blush rising on his fair cheeks spoke volumes, but he replied, “Is it always like this with Padawans?”

Qui-Gon slung his arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulders and pulled him close. “If the match is truly the will of the Force, then yes. Sometimes the love takes more time, but you will always care deeply for your Padawans. It is something that we as Jedi Masters are terrible at admitting aloud.” He pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s temple, transparisteel window be damned. “I find myself looking forward to having a grand-Padawan to spoil.”

With a snort, Obi-Wan ducked out of Qui-Gon’s embrace and stowed Ahsoka’s training ‘sabers in the cabinet. He locked the cabinet door, then took the time to splay on the floor and replace his socks and boots. The gravelly throat-clearing from the door caught them both by surprise. “Master Yoda!” Qui-Gon greeted the little troll, who was watching them both with a half-lidded gaze that did nothing to hide its sharpness. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously not,” replied Yoda as he slowly ambled into the room and closed the door with a flick of the Force. Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet and bowed to the elderly Jedi. “A discussion, we must have.”

“About what, Master?” Qui-Gon asked.

The green being squinted at them both, craning his neck to look up at Qui-Gon. “Reaching my ears, rumours are. Accusing you both of attachment, they are.”

Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan’s sinking heart through the bond, but the feelings did not leak into the Force. “Attachment? Really? I see no evidence to support such an accusation,” Qui-Gon retorted.

“Hmph,” Yoda grunted. “Someone else you might fool, Qui-Gon. False indignance suits you not.”

“Hardly false. I would challenge anyone to prove that either Obi-Wan or myself has been negligent in our duties, or has placed value of each other over our responsibilities as Jedi,” replied Qui-Gon sharply.

“A fine line you are walking. Expect this behaviour from you, I would, but believe Obi-Wan to have more sense, I did.” Yoda flattened his ears in upset and rapped his gimer stick on the floor. “Dangerous, attachment is, and more dangerous so with the perils we now face.”

Obi-Wan knelt in front of the wizened Master, and bowed his head in respect. “Master Yoda, love is not always attachment. It may be that the Jedi have equivocated the two for a long time, but you are our eldest. Surely you remember a time when Jedi have loved, and have been loved, without eschewing their duties?” Yoda frowned, but Obi-Wan persisted. “The Order is changing, and in the face of our enemies, we must change, or we will be destroyed by our own detachment from the galaxy and from each other. Master Windu’s vision is serving as a warning to us to become more aware, more involved with the galaxy. Without experiencing and understanding love, how can we empathize those we serve, who act upon their own emotions in times of conflict?”

Yoda gazed into Obi-Wan’s eyes for a moment, then with a blur and a crack, hit Obi-Wan’s thigh with his gimer stick. Shock hit Qui-Gon through the bond as Obi-Wan fell off balance, clutching his leg. “What was that for?” he demanded resentfully.

“Challenge the memory of your elders, you should not,” Yoda retorted grumpily.

“Without the challenge of the young, the Order will stagnante. If it were not for Mace, we would have changed nothing, and we would be poised for destruction,” Qui-Gon said gently. “And I would not appreciate a whack to my legs for saying so.”

“Hmph. A point you have made, Knight Kenobi. Meditate upon it, I shall. Beware of attachment, for it will be your downfall.” The ominous quality of the old Master’s voice sent chills through Qui-Gon’s body. Speechless, the two men watched the tiny green creature slowly exit the salle without looking back at them.

Obi-Wan rose, absently rubbing the welt that was surely raised on his thigh, and watched the doors hiss closed. “What the kriff was that?” he murmured.

“That was centuries of Jedi culture crashing down on our heads,” replied Qui-Gon, a glower firmly taking residence on his face. A moment passed, and the glower softened into a frown of dismay. “For all you were complaining about your neighbour, Yoda has lived for longer than any of us. He has taught the dangers of attachment to every crècheling for almost nine hundred years. Change is difficult, but even more so for him. Give him time, I suppose.” He did not mention the encounter with Sta-Den; it would only serve to pile more negativity on them both.

Obi-Wan turned to him and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t know how much more time any of us have to give, Qui,” he said quietly. “What brings you all the way down here, anyway?”

“Padmé is coming to see us,” he answered. “No indication as to the subject of the meeting.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Given the feeling of the past week, I doubt it’s anything good.”

“I wish I didn’t agree with you,” sighed Qui-Gon.

*

They arrived at the same neutral meeting room where Padmé had met Rex and Cody only a few minutes before Padmé and one of her handmaidens. The young women both had their hoods up to hide their faces, and Padmé wore a nondescript navy cloak at odds with her usual garb. Her face was a mask of cool neutrality, but her eyes blazed with fury. “There’s an evening session sitting tonight, so I don’t have much time,” she said by way of greeting. “I wanted to let you know that the debate on the clones’ entry into the Republic has been added to the permanent ‘postponed debate’ list as of noon today.”

Qui-Gon felt his hand clench into a fist, and he breathed out his anger with a sharp sigh. “They killed it.”

With a nod, Padmé said, “They killed it administratively, and it cannot be reintroduced until the next sitting cycle, three months from now. I doubt it would pass then, Master Jinn.”

“Are you so certain?” he asked, a little plaintively. Rex and Cody and their brothers were counting on him, damnit!

“I have a few friends in the Senate that I can count on, who are more powerful and connected than I am. We’ve all been making quiet inquiries. The current mood is one of anger against the Jedi for their role in creating the clones in the first place, and the more financially-minded are arguing about what effects all of this would have on the Kaminoan economy, for all that they’re not even part of the Republic. No one is outright saying that the Republic paid for the clones and so they are property, but the sentiment is underpinning everything surrounding this debate. There are only two thousand worlds who would support the petition. If you wish, our little delegation could push for timely debate during the next cycle, but with such a small number supporting it …” She shrugged helplessly.

“There’s no way the clones will be admitted to the Republic,” Obi-Wan finished.

Padmé shook her head, mouth set in a grim line. “No. Not without a serious shift away from current opinions on both the Jedi Order and cloned sentient rights. However, I have been in contact with Boss Nass. His offer for the clones to settle on Gungan land still stands, and the government in Theed has promised to not interfere.” Padmé’s handmaiden, hood still concealing her features, placed a single finger on Padmé’s elbow. “My time here is up, I’m afraid. The evening session was called at the last minute. The inquiry into the clones is returning with their findings.” She hesitated, then said quickly, “I’ve heard a rumour that they’ll be calling for a censure against the Jedi Order. You may want to let Master Windu know before it happens.”

“Thank you, Padmé,” Qui-Gon replied, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

To his surprise, she approached him and took his hand. The fire of her dark eyes shored up his will to fight for the clones. “Do not mistake me, Master Jinn. I will not allow slavery of cloned sentients. Democracy and equality cannot coexist with slavery and exploitation, and any government that chooses to support the disenfranchisement of any group is no democracy.” She nodded as if to herself, and walked out with her handmaiden in tow.

Once the door had hissed shut, Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. “I think our good Senator has found her cause,” he murmured.

“I’ll take all the allies we can get,” replied Qui-Gon. “We need to find Mace. Now.”

*

A few comm calls ensured the High Council chamber was occupied by its members when Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan strode in. The Councilors were clustered together, talking over each other in rapid, hushed voices, until they spotted Qui-Gon. “I’ve only just received a heads-up from Bail,” Mace announced. The knot of Jedi widened to allow the two newcomers a space.

“What are you doing here, Knight Kenobi?” Even Piell demanded, a frown creasing his face.

“We were meeting with Senator Amidala regarding the clone petition,” Qui-Gon replied. “He was with me when she gave us the tip about the Senate session. It’ll be all over the Temple by morning; there’s no reason he can’t watch the proceedings with us.”

Piell grunted, but made no further protest. No one bothered to sit as Mace activated the holoprojection in the middle of the room. The lights dimmed automatically, and the glowing blue live Senate broadcast materialized. Lott Dod was already speaking.

“It is the opinion of this inquiry, after carefully reviewing the evidence and testimony provided by the Head of the Jedi Order, that the creation of the clones on Kamino for the purposes of forming a military force borders on seditious. While there is no concrete evidence that the High Council acted to commit treason against the Republic, the Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas is undoubtedly responsible for the clones’ creation. The funds used to pay for this military force came from Republic coffers, shunted illegally and not immediately returned to the Board of Finance upon the discovery of the clones. It is the recommendation of this inquiry that the Jedi Order be heavily censured for their lack of control over their own members and their failure to immediately make known the details surrounding this matter, and financial punishment be placed upon them for their grave mishandling of the entire situation.”

The entire room could hear Mace grinding his teeth, but no one said anything. Dod nodded to himself, checked his notes, and continued. “Furthermore, this inquiry has grave concerns regarding the actions of Master Qui-Gon Jinn in relation to the money transferred from the Kaminoans into multiple private bank accounts. His actions were not authorized by the Senate, nor was his mission to Kamino sanctioned by the Senate; therefore, his actions are not protected under the laws shielding Jedi Knights from prosecution. We recommend that further investigation into his actions be undertaken by the Judicial financial crimes department. We believe there is enough evidence to warrant charges of embezzlement and tax evasion, but of course we defer to the Attorney-General.”

Everyone turned to stare at Qui-Gon, whose heart was sinking. Criminal charges. The uproar in the Senate was white noise in his ears. Criminal charges for protecting the clones, for keeping secrets against the Sith. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and to his surprise, it was Mace’s. “We will fight this, Qui-Gon. I promise you. The Jedi Order has some of the best judicial advocates in the galaxy.”

Overwhelming despondency washed over Qui-Gon. “Why bother? Having a decent lawyer isn’t going to fix this. It’s the vision all over again, Mace. He’s always going to beat us. He has more resources and has spent decades manipulating the system to his advantage.”

Even Piell looked nervous. “Perhaps this is not the place to discuss this,” he interjected.

“Temple security has … taken care of the issue,” Plo Koon soothed. “The malicious code in the surveillance systems has been neutralized.” Piell crossed his arms over his chest and eyeballed the ceiling suspiciously.

“You want to just quit, then? Let him win?” Mace snapped, his dark eyes ablaze in challenge.

“Of course not!” cried Qui-Gon. “But for all our machinations, he is so far beyond us in every way. He has the majority of the Senate doing his bidding, and they don’t even know it. We are bloody amateurs compared to him, and we are _going to lose._ ”

Mace was left without a reply as Bail Organa moved his repulsorpod next to Dod’s, his face grim. “Chancellor, Alderaan requests the floor.”

Palpatine, his face serious, replied, “Alderaan has the floor.”

Bail threw a glare at Dod, who ignored him. “Senator Dod has not indicated that the decision of this inquiry is split. Alderaan objects to the majority opinion, and offers its dissenting opinion.”

Palpatine whispered to the Vice Chair, Mas Amedda, who bent to speak to the parliamentarian, who tapped their fingers over a datapad and nodded sourly. “The dissenting opinion will be added to the record. Continue, Senator Organa.”

“It is the opinion of this member of the inquiry that the Jedi Order had no hand in the creation of the clones. There is the possibility that Master Sifo-Dyas was both mentally unwell and coerced into his actions that resulted in the clone army, and no evidence that the Jedi High Council instructed or ordered him to Kamino. The Jedi’s work to obtain rights for the clones as members of the Republic is an indication that they understand the seriousness of this matter, and that they are doing everything possible to mitigate the consequences of the actions of one of their own. It is Alderaan’s opinion that the Jedi’s mishandling of the financial situation with Kamino stems from unfamiliarity with the policies and procedures of the Board of Finance. Alderaan recommends no censure against the Jedi Order at this time, nor do we support any further investigation or charges against Master Jinn. Alderaan also wishes to insist that an investigation into the initial transfer of funds to the Kaminoans begin immediately. We want to know where that money came from, and we want to know the truth, not some baseless rumours leaked to the press by gods know whom.”

The microphone picked up a rumble of disapproval, and Bail’s fingers twitched. Palpatine kept his face smooth, but Qui-Gon thought his eyes looked positively gleeful. The clenching fist around his heart did not ease at Bail’s proclamation. The minority opinion was not going to save him. “Your opinion on this matter is noted, Senator Organa. The vote to accept the recommendations of the majority of this inquiry is now open. All in favour?”

A din of ayes overwhelmed the sound system, and the total votes popped up on the bottom edge of the projection. Qui-Gon heard Adi Gallia groan and Even Piell snap out a vile Huttese invective. “All opposed?”

The nays were far more scattered, and the total on the projection tallied just over two thousand. “The motion carries. The Jedi Order will be formally censured for their responsibility for creating a clone army. Financial punishment will be determined by the Board of Finance no later than the end of the month. Judicial will take over further investigation of Master Jinn regarding his actions on Kamino.”

Silence covered the Jedi like a blanket of snow. Finally, Dooku shifted and turned to his former apprentice. “Blame me,” he said, skipping any preamble. Before Qui-Gon could protest, he continued, “Blame me for the bank accounts. I was the one who told you how, and they are all in my name. I gave you the idea, and I specifically had you do it that way to avoid the Senate’s notice. Tell them it was my fault, Qui-Gon.”

Stealthy and silent, Yoda wielded his gimer stick and whacked both Dooku and Qui-Gon in the shins. Dooku winced but kept his regal bearing, but Qui-Gon yelped in surprise and hopped backwards. No one snickered. “Fools we are not. Act like fools, we will not,” Yoda announced, squinting at his own Padawan and grand-Padawan as though he did not quite believe his own words. “Correct, Qui-Gon is. Political, we are not. Complicated, the game of the Sith is. A solution we will find. Together.”

“Is assassination back on the table?” muttered Piell. This time, no one objected.

Bail nudged his repulsorpod forward, catching the interest of the Jedi once more. The large holoprojection of the man stuttered as the cameras adjusted their focus on him. “Chancellor, Alderaan requests the floor.”

“Much to say today, haven’t we, Senator?” Palpatine mused. “The floor is yours.”

The expression on Bail’s face was unusual; if Qui-Gon had a guess, he would have said the man looked both deeply unsure and preparing himself for an execution. “Kriff me, he’s going to do it _now_ ,” Mace hissed. “Gods damn it, Bail, I didn’t mean _now_.”

“Given recent events surrounding the Jedi Order, Alderaan moves that this Senate adopt the resolution titled the Jedi Neutrality Act.” Normally, the Senate was noisy upon the introduction of a new bill, but today, a pin could have dropped and been heard by the uppermost Senatorial pods. Bail cleared his throat. “Given the diplomatic importance of the Jedi Order to the entire Galactic Republic, it is a grave conflict of interest for the Jedi to be funded by the Senate Board of Finance. To undertake neutral work in the negotiation of treaties, civil wars, trade, and other conflicts between member planets and between members and non-Republic worlds, the Jedi must maintain a financial neutrality. To have the Republic fund a non-governmental organization creates a conflict of interest that puts the Jedi in danger of losing their funding every time they negotiate terms on behalf of the Senate. Every time they walk into a situation where the Senate is divided on the issue, they risk the wrath of those sitting on the Board of Finance. How can we trust the Jedi’s neutrality in those situations if they’re worried about feeding and clothing themselves for the next year? How can worlds in conflict with the policies of the Republic be convinced of the Jedi’s dedication to achieving the fairest outcome if the Jedi are beholden to the Senate?”

As he finished speaking, a roar of muttering mixed with shouting rippled through the Senate dome. Qui-Gon could not tell if the roar was approving or otherwise; it was just noise. Palpatine raised his hands for quiet. “Order! I will have order!”

Mouth full of sharp teeth pulled back in the approximation of a smile, Lott Dod said, “The Trade Federation seconds.”

A full minute passed before the Senate dome was quiet enough for the Chancellor to speak. His eyes danced with amusement, though the rest of his composure remained stately. “A new motion has been brought forth by the Senator for Alderaan, and it requires debate. Given the seriousness of this matter, and certainly its urgency, I feel it is my duty to limit debate on this matter to three hours. The question of the resolution, the Jedi Neutrality Act, is now open to debate. Each speaker will be allowed one minute to accommodate as many speakers as possible. Senator Organa offers the following resolution.” Palpatine took a datapad from Mas Amedda and read from the screen. “Wheras the Jedi Order requires neutrality to undertake its diplomatic work within and outside the Republic, therefore resolved, that the Board of Finance revoke its funding of the Jedi Order by the end of the fiscal year.”

For three hours, the High Council watched as Senator after Senator spent their allotted minute condemning the Jedi Order for grievances spanning centuries. Those few who supported the Jedi spoke eloquently, defending the Order as the peacekeepers of the galaxy and righteous users of the Force in the service of democracy, but there were too few. Padmé Amidala spoke, after a confused glace at Bail Organa, of the Jedi saving the Naboo from death and cruel internment; she was quickly interrupted by an indignant Lott Dod, who announced that there had never been any charges laid against the Trade Federation for its legal blockade. As Palpatine called for order, Qui-Gon laid a hand on Mace’s shoulder. The Korun Master’s face was barely containing his anger.

“This isn’t going to work,” Mace finally ground out. “Qui-Gon is right. We aren’t politicians. We don’t even have a seat in the Senate. We are completely at their mercy,” he gestured harshly at the holoprojection of the Senate, “and it is becoming clear that the majority of them support Palpatine or are working for him, or are using this opportunity to punish us for old grievances. How are we supposed to fight when we aren’t even in the arena?”

A brief murmur rippled through the Councilors, and Qui-Gon let his hand slip back to his side. “We aren’t politicians. We are Jedi, and it is our responsibility to keep the Sith in check,” Qui-Gon said.

Depa narrowed her eyes at him. “What exactly are you suggesting, Qui-Gon?”

“I’m suggesting that if our plan to play Palpatine politically isn’t going to bear fruit, then we must stand up and do our duty to eliminate the Sith before he can take over the galaxy,” Qui-Gon answered bluntly. The entire Council began to talk over each other in response.

“But the repercussions—” argued Depa.

“Perhaps we should wait and see,” suggested Ki-Adi. “See what comes of Senator Organa’s proposal.”

“Have we gathered enough evidence to clear us afterwards?” Eeth Koth wondered.

“Kill him and get this over with,” Even Piell muttered, to which Dooku nodded approvingly. “End the Sith threat now!”

Yoda was silent, his eyes troubled and ears twitching. Mace was shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “We don’t have enough hard evidence to bring before the Senate. I don’t see another option that protects the Order from retribution. I won’t let us be caught off-guard, so let’s not give him time to move against us.” His lips tightened in a firm line. “Not again,” he murmured, pitched low but heard by everyone. “There are a few still missing, but I think we have enough. Tonight, then, is your time to shine, Knight Kenobi.” He raised his voice to a normal level and took in the sight of his fellow Councilors surrounding him. It was a testament to the tense line of apprehension running through the room that not a single one made further protest at his declaration. “Our alternate plan is a go, then. 2500 hours. Bring your people with you.”

“May the Force be with us,” Obi-Wan whispered to himself, but in the silence of the chamber, his voice carried. The High Councilors all nodded in agreement at the benediction turned prayer.

*

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was almost deserted. Qui-Gon let his Force sense spread out through the trees, acknowledging the birds and tiny mammals who lived there. Only a few Jedi were here, all in deep meditation. Qui-Gon kept his feet light on the path to keep the peace of this place. Without a word, Obi-Wan slipped his hand into Qui-Gon’s, and the latter led them to the large tree where his bees had made their hive. “You haven’t met my bees yet,” Qui-Gon said, his voice a low rumble.

“I haven’t,” replied Obi-Wan. He was watching Qui-Gon curiously. “Why is that so important that we are here instead of having our latemeal?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “As an interested amateur beekeeper, I spent hours researching the topic in the Archives. I stumbled upon a fascinating bit of folklore.” As if sensing his presence, the bees began circling them. One particularly brave creature landed on Qui-Gon’s outstretched hand, scenting him in the search for nectar. “Here.” Qui-Gon motioned for Obi-Wan to hold out his hand as well, and a moment later, five bees landed upon his fair skin.

“They tickle,” Obi-Wan said with a smile. “They’re not going to sting me, right?”

“Not if you’re calm,” replied Qui-Gon.

“So what was this folklore you discovered?” prompted Obi-Wan as he watched with fascination the black and yellow insects crawl over his fingers and take flight once more.

“In some places, it is customary to tell your bees about the important goings-on in the beekeeper’s family. A birth, a death, someone’s goings and returns.” At Obi-Wan’s lifted eyebrow, he continued, “There’s not much written about why people do this, but bees are Force-sensitive. Perhaps beekeepers knew this, or suspected, and it was a way to commune with the Force.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan hummed with interest, still keeping an attentive eye on the bees that were now lighting upon him in far greater numbers. “So this is you introducing me to your bees?”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Well, you are important, my love. And they seem to like you.”

The bees’ buzzing had grown loud as they flew around Obi-Wan. A little nervously, he said, “I like them too. Maybe not so close, though.”

At this pronouncement, the bees took to the air and flew away as one, off to find real flowers for their queen. “Would you care to meditate with me for a few moments, Obi-Wan?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. With gentle hands, he helped Qui-Gon to the thick grass then knelt facing him. In the space of a few breaths, both of them had drifted into the peace of meditation. In his mind, Obi-Wan was a spot of serene calm, and Qui-Gon took great comfort from it. They were going to need all the serenity they could muster.

*

No one had seen fit to replace the light fixtures. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan descended into the bowels of the Temple in increasingly dim light. By the time they reached the bottom step, they stood in darkness save for a sliver of light escaping the crack in the door panels. The door stuttered open with a squeal, and Obi-Wan muttered something about no one thinking to grease the mechanisms. They walked into the large chamber where Yoda had hidden himself, seemingly ages ago in the face of recent events, to find the soft glow of emergency stand lamps throwing long shadows up the craggy faces of the rock spire dominating the room. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and breathed deeply as the Force washed over him, carrying him along like a toy boat bobbing along a wave. It took a moment to ground himself in the face of such depth of feeling. When he opened his eyes, a tiny smile quirked his lips.

A low murmur of voices filled the room as hundreds of Jedi milled about, waiting patiently for the proceedings to begin. Somone had erected a large dais on the opposite side of the door, bringing anyone standing on it over the heads of those gathered. Mace Windu waited on the dais, and waved Qui-Gon over. He and Obi-Wan shuffled their way through the crowd, pausing here and there to murmur greetings to old acquaintances and long-absent friends. Waiting at the base of the platform was Dooku, arms clasped behind his back as he scanned the crowd with his usual imperious mask. Upon seeing his lineage approach, he nodded to them. “Where have you two been?” He grimaced slightly and shook his head. “No, nevermind, I don’t need to know.”

Obi-Wan stifled a grin and kept his face smooth. “Qui-Gon was showing me his bees, grand-Master.”

Eyes widening, Dooku rolled his gaze up and down Obi-Wan as if checking for grave injury. “Are you all right?” he demanded, a little too quickly.

Obi-Wan drew his eyebrows together in confusion. “All right? Yes, of course I’m all right.” He squinted a bit at the white-haired Master. “Why? Did you have an unpleasant experience with Qui-Gon’s bees?”

Turning his back on his old Master was the only way for Qui-Gon to preserve Dooku’s dignity. Dooku spluttered just a bit, mouth gaping, while Qui-Gon had to lean on Obi-Wan’s shoulder to prevent his collapse to the floor in silent guffaws. For his part, Obi-Wan frowned, taking in the sight of his grand-Master speechless with indignance and his lover wracked with voiceless laughter. “You know what? I don’t want to know,” he said lightly. Dooku harrumphed and pointedly returned to staring at the crowd, his gaze sharper than before.

Qui-Gon wiped his eyes with the corner of his cloak and rubbed his hand over his mouth to scrub away his smile. “Probably for the best,” he choked out.

On the dais, Mace motioned for Obi-Wan to join him. “We’re ready to begin,” he said. As Obi-Wan mounted the five steps to the platform, Dooku put a hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

“I want to apologize. I should not have implied that you require surveillance,” he said in a low voice. “I was concerned about the security surrounding the holocron.”

“Perhaps you were right to do so, my Master,” Qui-Gon offered. “It was surprisingly easy to get in there.”

Dooku nodded, the matter not requiring further discussion, and squeezed Qui-Gon’s shoulder before letting his hand fall. A hush rolled over the cavernous room. Every eye was rapt upon the dais. Mace cleared his throat. “Good evening everyone,” he began. “Thank you for joining us. I realize that you have all been afforded very little information regarding the situation that has recalled many of you from your outposts and non-emergency missions. This was done due to the grave threat that now hangs over the entire Order.” A low murmur rippled through the room, and Mace held up his hand for silence. “Every Jedi in this room is an experienced, senior Knight or Master. This is not a task for our Padawans, nor for our junior Knights.”

From the crowd, someone called, “Then what’s Kenobi doing here?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and hooked his thumbs into his belt. How he managed to swagger without actually moving his feet was a mystery that Qui-Gon Jinn never wanted to solve. “You’re just jealous, Seressk.” The quip was met with a smattering of chuckles, all in the vicinity of the Devaronian. Seressk raised his hand in a vulgar gesture, but he was grinning.

“Since I just finished pronouncing us mature Jedi Knights, could we comport ourselves as adults, please?” Mace snapped. “Knight Kenobi will be instructing us all in a very specific Force skill that is normally reserved for Jedi Shadows. I can see that many of you want to ask why, so allow me to explain.

“There is a Sith in the Galactic Senate, and he has been working tirelessly to bring about the downfall of the Jedi Order for decades.” The room exploded with disbelieving chatter. Mace let the noise continue for a moment before raising his hands in the air, calling for silence. “It has been decided by the High Council that the identity of the Sith cannot be revealed yet, to protect as many of us as possible from Sith retribution or espionage. That specific detail will come on the day we move against the Sith. Given what’s happened in the Senate recently, we cannot afford to wait much longer. I expect we only have a few days before all of us will be called to perform our duty as Jedi and eliminate the threat of the Sith. Now, Knight Kenobi, will you teach us what we need to know?”

Obi-Wan nodded gracefully and stepped to the front of the dais. “I will show you how to hide yourself in the Force. To another Force-user, Jedi or Sith, you will appear as a null. Should you have a Padawan learner or a working pair-bond with another Jedi, let them know that you’re about to disappear for a little while. Once you’re hidden, any bond you have will seem to have been severed by the person on the other end. It’s … shocking, if you’re not prepared for it.” He studiously kept his gaze on the crowd, but Qui-Gon could feel his guilty apology over their bond.

_There’s nothing to be guilty about anymore, my love. We are here, and alive, and together. Back to your lesson,_ Qui-Gon admonished.

_Yes, Master,_ Obi-Wan replied, guilt replaced by dancing cheekiness. “I learned this trick out in the field. It’s taught to Shadows, so if any of you are in the audience tonight, make sure you fumble a little bit to keep your cover,” he said with a grin. “Don’t make it look _too_ easy.” A few laughs met him. “The first time you do this, it’s easiest if you close your eyes and sink into a very light trance.”

Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan talk his way through the demonstration. Through the Force, he felt the room slowly empty of Jedi. Some flickered in and out for a moment as they struggled with wrapping the edges of the Force around themselves. This was a room full of experienced Knights, however, and by the end of Obi-Wan’s lesson, every Jedi had figured out how to properly conceal their Force signature. There may have been at least three hundred Jedi Knights in the massive room, but to the Force, it was empty. Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder; seeing with his eyes what the Force told him was not there was still uncomfortably disorienting.

Nodding to himself, Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Excellent. Now the trick is to keep yourself hidden while moving, while having a conversation, while sparring. It’s more difficult to do when you must split your focus onto more than just hiding. Pair off, please, and practice staying hidden. There’s enough room for all of us to have a quick spar if everyone keeps their elbows to themselves.”

“No one leaves until you’ve demonstrated your new ability to a High Councilor,” Mace announced. “Let’s get to work.”

Lives spent in training meant that the Jedi needed no further instructions. Like a hive of bees, they milled around and paired off efficiently. Qui-Gon stepped down from the dais and moved through the crowd to observe. Pair after pair of Jedi, invisible in the Force but solid and real to his eyes, showed him their new skill. The faces started to blend together until he reached a very familiar face. Tahl’s eyes narrowed at him as he approached. “You didn’t tell me any of this,” she accused in a whisper without taking her focus off her partner, a Nautolan that Qui-Gon had met a few times. Tahl raised her voice and smiled. “Go ahead, Kit. Show him what you’ve got.”

The Nautolan grinned, large eyes unblinking, as he disappeared in the Force. He checked the space around him with a quick turn of his head, then executed a perfect backflip from a standing position. His null-presence never wavered. “Excellent,” Qui-Gon noted. Under his breath he said to Tahl, “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t allowed to. If you want to be privy to everything that’s going on, feel free to apply for a Council position.”

She grunted with displeasure. “Why, and put you out of a job?” she retorted. “Let’s get this over with. I don’t want to leave Kyari alone too long. She was concerned that I had a meeting so late, and our mental communication is still a bit fuzzy. I hope all this vanishing in the Force didn’t scare her.” Tahl disappeared from his Force-sense and performed an enhanced leap into the air. Upon landing, she gave him a tight smile. “Do I pass muster, Master Jinn?”

“As always, Master Tahl. Keep your comm close and say nothing of the Sith to anyone,” he warned. She pursed her lips and threw him a look that said, _obviously._ As she turned to leave the vast cavern, he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. Surprised, she swivelled to face him. “Tahl—watch out for yourself, okay?”

“I always do,” she replied. “Same to you, my dear.” She leaned in to murmur in his ear. “I’ve gone over every scrap of data you brought back from Kamino. Twice. There’s nothing else there, I’m afraid.”

She patted him on the shoulder and slipped into the crowd, a full head taller than most. Qui-Gon watched her go with a knot of foreboding coiling in his belly. There was no way to tell exactly what it was he was worried about. It was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you to the lovely Aryax for her beta skills! I basically just needed to not touch this chapter anymore, so here you go, dear readers! Special thanks for the inspiring minds of bertie (markwatnae) and rusc-of-airgead over on the Tumbles for, well, you two know what you did.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan receives a letter, and Mace just wants this day to end.

The computer workstation chimed insistently the moment they crossed the threshold. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. “What now?” he muttered, leaving his boots on as he checked the screen. “I didn’t know you were routing your messages here,” he said over his shoulder.

Obi-Wan was tugging his boots off at the door. “Why walk all the way to my unoccupied shoebox? It was a simple matter of forwarding it here. Who’s it from?”

At the name on the sender’s line, Qui-Gon paled and the moisture dried in his mouth. Obi-Wan straightened, one boot still on, and hurried over. “What is it?” Qui-Gon pointed to the screen, and Obi-Wan swore in Bothan. He violently stabbed his finger at the screen to open the message, and read it aloud.

“Dear Knight Kenobi,

“It has come to my immediate attention that there is a possible security breach within your ranks. You may be wondering why I have brought this matter to you, rather than the High Council, but given recent events that cast doubt on the forthrightness and commitment to transparency of certain Councilors, I believed caution was the better part of valour. You have proven yourself to be a dedicated servant of the Republic, an upstanding young Jedi with a promising career—how could I ignore your steadfast character and send my concerns to those currently under the shadow of scandal? I trust you to do what is right and necessary with this information, my dear Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan, for his part, shuddered in disgust but kept reading.

“To the matter at hand: my office has received recordings from within the Jedi Temple. While I only listened to part of them, these recordings are clearly of a confidential nature. I am concerned that they have been released at all; there is the grave possibility that there is a Sith agent working freely among the Jedi, and therefore, within the Republic. As the Chancellor of the Republic, I would hope that you, a tireless and brave Knight untouched by politics, would personally investigate this terrible and serious allegation.

“Please find attached to this message the recordings received at my office to help you in your search for answers. My personal secretary has examined the metadata and has provided the address of the originating source; as difficult as it is to imagine another Jedi betraying the Order by sending restricted information to me, it is far more difficult to fathom what that betrayal could mean for the stability of the galaxy. A simple index search has revealed the sender’s name to be Master Pong Krell.

“I trust this information has found its way to who I believe is the right man for this task. I would counsel you to keep this away from those of your order who are tainted by recent scandal and could impair your ability to investigate this with sheer objectivity. Should you require any assistance, I would be pleased to offer it.

“Sincerely and gratefully yours,

“Sheev Palpatine, Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic,” Obi-Wan finished faintly. “Kriffing hells, Qui, what is this?! Why send it to me?”

Ashen-faced, Qui-Gon took a step back from the computer terminal. “He’s trying to groom you. He needs a new apprentice, remember?” he whispered.

Obi-Wan made a strangled noise in his throat and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “If he’s trying to groom me, then he would be sending me information that I could verify. Make me feel like I was confirming what he sent me, make me feel like … like he was on my side, that I could trust him over anyone else. Isolate me from my peers.” He grimaced. “I feel vile.”

“Just like he did to Anakin in Mace’s vision.” Qui-Gon strode back to the door and tossed Obi-Wan his leather jacket. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Obi-Wan asked as he shrugged on his jacket and tugged on his missing boot.

“If Palpatine wants you to confirm what he said, then Krell actually sent him the transmissions that were gleaned from the malicious code found in the surveillance and recording systems. If Krell is feeding him information, there are only two explanations: he’s doing it deliberately, knowing Palpatine is the Sith, which means he’s Fallen and possibly a new Sith apprentice; or he’s being coerced by Palpatine, which means he’s both a pawn and a spy.” Qui-Gon ducked into his bedroom and came out with his lightsaber in hand. He clipped it to his belt, knowing full well that he could not wield it properly. It was still a comforting weight on his hip. “Comm Yoda and tell him to meet us at Krell’s quarters. I’ll let Mace know.”

Obi-Wan suddenly looked doubtful. “I’ve heard about Krell’s lightsabers, Qui. Should we get more backup?”

Qui-Gon considered it for a moment. Pong Krell was famous for his four-bladed _jar’kai_. He had watched the big Besalisk defeat a group of five Jedi Knights in a ‘saber tournament a few years ago. If he was channelling the dark side as well …. “Call Dooku and Adi Gallia, and pray we won’t need them.”

At the head of the corridor to Krell’s quarters, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan met with the clustered knot of High Councilors. Every one wore a troubled expression. As a group, they retreated into a recessed niche where they could talk without attracting attention. Before anyone said anything, Obi-Wan passed Palpatine’s letter to Mace for his perusal. “This was unsolicited,” Obi-Wan emphasized. “I have only seen him once since returning from my undercover mission, and that was by chance while in Senator Amidala’s office. He was polite and overfriendly in that way that politicians have when they’re trying to get a favour out of you.”

Mace had an haunted tightness around his eyes that could only mean he was thinking about falling out of a transparisteel window.He bit off a curse and handed the datapad to Yoda. “It’s all right, Obi-Wan. I have to say, I expected him to try this sooner, but my efforts to keep Anakin away from him seem to have succeeded.”

“Better me than him,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’m past both my impressionable youth phase and my respect for politicians phase.”

Adi Gallia snorted, then mouthed an embarrassed _sorry_. “Proof of any wrongdoing by Krell, this is not,” Yoda protested, raising the datapad over his head for Dooku to take.

“Proof? No,” Dooku replied as his eyes sped over the text. “But it is enough that Palpatine has taken enough interest to name Krell directly. Caution dictates that we at least talk to Krell and ascertain whether we have a problem, and we cannot waste time by waiting until morning.”

Adi plucked the datapad from Dooku’s outstretched hand and hummed as she read. “He could be trying to get us to distrust one another,” she suggested. “But I agree with Master Dooku. We must err on the side of caution. The possibility exists that Krell has Fallen and is working for the Sith, because the Sith himself has suggested it as a way to get Obi-Wan to trust him. If Obi-Wan discovers that Palpatine’s letter foreshadowed truthfully, then he would be likely to see the Chancellor as an ally.”

“Exactly,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“Force spare me from defenestration,” Mace muttered. “All right. We get him to accompany us to a holding cell for questioning.”

“And if he runs?” asked Dooku, his voice grave.

“Any resistance will be met with appropriate force. If he is Fallen, he cannot be allowed to escape or harm others.” The hard lines of Mace’s face matched his tone. “Let’s go.”

Yoda harrumphed, but walked alongside Mace as they approached Krell’s quarters. At the door, Mace’s finger hovered over the chime for a heartbeat’s span before he poked it. A moment passed with no reply, and Adi asked faintly, “Did anyone check to see that he was home?”

The door slid open, and Pong Krell’s enormous frame filled the threshold. Bleary eyed, he looked taken aback at the knot of Jedi watching him. “Masters, is there a problem?” he asked, the sleep instantly fading from his eyes. His deep voice held an edge of concern.

“Possibly,” replied Mace neturally. “May we come in, Master Krell, so as to not disturb your neighbours?”

Krell narrowed his eyes but stepped away from the door to allow them entry. They filed in and made a loose semi-circle facing Krell. “It has come to our attention that there may have been a security breach in the Temple,” Mace said. To his credit, his voice was normal.

“That is most concerning,” Krell replied. He was still as a statue as he met Mace’s gaze.

“It is, indeed, Master Krell. Far more concerning is that there is some indication that the security breach has come from within the Temple.”

The Besalisk grunted and jerked his head towards Qui-Gon. “Perhaps you should have kept a tighter leash on those clones of yours, Master Jinn,” he sneered. “Creatures bred in a lab can’t be trusted.”

Qui-Gon had a brief flash of Mace’s vision—interrogating the clone trooper named Dogma for executing Pong Krell after the atrocities at Umbara. Mace had been convinced that Krell had Fallen to the dark side, and had argued for Dogma to be released; he had been successful only in commuting Dogma’s death sentence to life imprisonment. Qui-Gon swallowed down the anger over Krell’s attitude towards the clones and released it into the Force. Now was not the time to be anything but calm and focussed. He took a small step forward. “The clones are not at fault, Master Krell.”

“Oh, but I am, am I?” retorted the Besalisk. “That’s why you’re all here? To arrest me? Why else would you all be here?”

“Ask you to join us, we are,” Yoda said calmly. “Questions we must ask of you, Pong. To the holding cells, we will go. Together.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Krell protested, his voice harsh. His hands were twitching.

“Then help us prove it,” answered Mace. “We are not accusing you of anything, Master Krell, but we do need to ask you a few questions.”

Krell’s yellow eyes lit upon Obi-Wan, and his frown deepened. “What is he doing here?” he demanded, pointing at the Knight. Shuffling his feet forward slightly, Krell glared at Qui-Gon. “Or are you so enamoured with him that you don’t dare loosen your leash? Take him everywhere, like a pet?”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows drew down as he stepped forward in protest. Dooku put out his hand to stop his grand-Padawan from doing anything rash, and in that tiny moment of distraction, Krell struck. Two of his enormous arms reached out and grabbed Qui-Gon while one of his other hands called and ignited his double-bladed lightsaber. Krell hugged Qui-Gon against his chest, pinning Qui-Gon’s arms so he could not reach his own lightsaber, and levelled the green blade under Qui-Gon’s beard. The explosive snap of five lightsabers igniting as one filled the room. The tense hum of the blades was deafening in the heavy silence.

Mace pointed his purple blade at Krell. “Let him go. Now.”

“Why? He’s the only one of you who can’t fight back. He and I are going to go for a little walk out of the Temple, and then you can have your clone-loving Master back, Kenobi,” Krell drawled. “And if anyone tries to stop me in any way, I’ll finish what that Zabrak couldn’t.”

Qui-Gon watched his friends’ faces illuminated by their lightsaber blades. He would not allow them to be hurt for his sake, nor would he allow himself to be a liability. The heavy muscles and hard bone of Krell’s arm pressed against his scar. Sharp pain throbbed in his chest and pricked at his eyes.

_Qui?_

_Wait._

He closed his eyes and reached out. His friends were there, sharp edges of worry and professionalism. Obi-Wan was there in his mind, a knot of apprehension and tense focus. There. Krell was there, a whirling storm of rage and hate that overshadowed everything else. His shields were haphazard, overlapping imperfectly, and Qui-Gon insinuated himself between the cracks. _Sleep._ Behind him, Krell stiffened, and the heat of the lightsaber closed in on Qui-Gon’s jaw. The acrid smell of singed beard filled his nostrils. Further into the maelstrom of Krell’s mind, Qui-Gon _shoved_. The press of hatred buffetted Qui-Gon as he intruded, but he delved even deeper. _SLEEP._

The Besalisk collapsed to the floor with a thump; Qui-Gon caught the lightsaber hilt with one hand and thumbed it off. He stepped away from Krell a bit too quickly to be called calmly and handed Dooku the ‘saber. The room was filled with the sound of ‘sabers snapping off. “I don’t know if that went better or worse than I expected,” Adi said, a little bewildered as she stared at the prone form on the carpet.

Qui-Gon scratched at the scorched beard under his jaw. “I’m going to have to shave, so worse?” he quipped. _I’m fine, love,_ he reassured Obi-Wan, who was eyeing him sharply. _Promise._ “I can’t tell if he’s Fallen of his own accord, or coerced. His mind is dark, but the fact that I was able to push him into a Suggestion indicates he’s unstable.”

After a long sigh, Mace pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Can this day be over, please?”

“How hard did you push?” Dooku asked with a note of morbid curiosity.

“Not nearly as hard as I would expect for a Jedi Master,” replied Qui-Gon, “but harder than I would have preferred.”

“It kept us from a fight in close quarters,” Adi told him. “You defended yourself and us, Qui-Gon, so you have my thanks.” Qui-Gon nodded to her, grateful for her support.

Yoda’s eyes had not moved from Krell, even as he tucked his lightsaber hilt back onto his belt. “Many questions to answer, he has. Secure him before he wakes, we must. Call Master Drallig, Padawan.”

“Yes, Master,” Dooku replied. As Dooku pulled out his comm and called the head of the Temple Guards, Mace stooped down and plucked Krell’s other lightsaber from the low table next to the couch.

“His weapons don’t feel dark,” he noted.

Dooku tucked his comm away and snorted. “So he hasn’t massacred anyone with them yet,” he replied, his voice flat. “Cin will be here in three minutes. He said not to touch anything.” His eyes flicked to the long ‘saber hilt in Mace’s hand and added, “Else.”

“This needs to be contained,” Mace said. “We can’t have word getting out that one of us has turned to the dark side.”

“But what do we do about Palpatine?” interjected Obi-Wan. “If Krell disappears from contact, Palpatine will know that we did exactly what he told us to. What he told _me_ to do.”

Yoda hummed. “Lead the Chancellor on, Obi-Wan could. Take the bait of friendship and gain his trust.”

As one, Mace, Qui-Gon, and Dooku all cried, “No!” Mace glared at the other two and continued, “No, Yoda. Palpatine is too dangerous to play that kind of game. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, and I will not put Obi-Wan or any Jedi in that position. He preys on people, exploits them and twists them to his use, and I won’t allow it. Kenobi, close your mouth. If you even imply that you are capable of being bait, I will personally kick your ass.”

Obi-Wan held up his hands as if in surrender. “Frankly, I’m not going to argue. I’d rather pretend to befriend a rancor.”

“You may send him a reply stating that the matter has been forwarded to the Temple Guards. Thank him for bringing it to his attention, but note that any further security issues must be directed to the Guards or the High Council. Be,” Mace shrugged, “diplomatic. I trust you can handle that?”

Obi-Wan gave him a flat look. “I seem to recall my apprenticeship covered formal correspondence to high-ranking politicians, Master Windu,” he replied dryly. Dooku nodded so slightly in approval that Qui-Gon might have imagined it.

“Otherwise, we keep all of this under wraps.” Mace gestured at Krell’s unconscious body. “Not a word of this to anyone other than the Council. We figure out what’s going on with him, and he either gets help to rehabilitate after being coerced or—”

“Execute him as a Sith, we will,” Yoda pronounced, his voice hard despite his sad expression.

*

None of the Jedi left Krell’s quarters until after Cin Drallig and his team of Guards had bound the Besalisk, administered a sedative to keep him asleep, and levitated him out of his quarters towards the holding cells. Mace and Adi followed the procession, with the latter insisting that the others get some sleep. Dooku escorted his old Master home. The walk home seemed lonely for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan as they carefully kept a pace between them, mindful of prying eyes and Yoda’s lecture.

They said little as they entered their quarters. Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon with his cloak and boots, despite Qui-Gon’s half-hearted protests. Quickly, Qui-Gon peeled apart his tunics to check on his scar; it was swollen and angry, but it had not broken open. In the quiet privacy of their quarters, Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the sitting room and threw up his hands. “Now what? I won’t be sleeping any time soon,” he complained.

“Me neither,” replied Qui-Gon, “but I’m too tired to do anything else.” He brought his hand up to scratch at his beard absently. The foul sulphuric smell of burnt hair reached his nostrils once again, and he wrinkled his nose. “I’m going to shave, and then I’m going to bed.”

Obi-Wan peered at him sideways. “You’re not going to shave the whole thing, are you?”

“Gods, no,” Qui-Gon replied. “I think it would scare the entire crèche if I showed up bare-faced. I haven’t seen my chin in about twenty years.”

With a chuckle, Obi-Wan grabbed Qui-Gon’s hand and led him into the ‘fresher. In the stark white light, they both looked pale after the day’s ordeal; Qui-Gon had dark circles under his eyes. He stretched his neck out to investigate the damage done by Krell’s blade. A wide swath of hairs with curled, melted tips marred his neck. From just under his chin to the bottom of his neck, it would all have to go. He reached for his razor, a fine straight-edged blade that he usually eschewed for a pair of trimming scissors. Obi-Wan ducked under the sink and rummaged for the pot of shaving cream that Qui-Gon had stashed years ago. When he twisted the container open, he grunted. “You may as well use mine. This one’s so dry it’s fossilized.”

Obi-Wan straightened and caught a glimpse of Qui-Gon’s razor trembling in his hand. Even with all his concentration, Qui-Gon’s hand would not stop shaking. Gently, Obi-Wan placed his fingers over Qui-Gon’s fist and pried the razor out of his grasp. “It’s okay, Qui. You’re safe. It’s just the adrenaline,” he said softly. “Take a deep breath.”

Qui-Gon did as he was told, but his body betrayed him. Shaking like a leaf, he turned to Obi-Wan. His copper Knight placed the razor in the sink and wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon. The circles he rubbed on Qui-Gon’s back were as soothing as his low voice. “You did great, Qui. You got us all out of that situation without anyone getting hurt.”

“I violated his mind,” Qui-Gon replied faintly.

“You defended yourself,” retorted Obi-Wan. “I know I told you that I don’t like Suggestion, but I’m pretty sure I also said that you need ways to protect yourself. That’s exactly what you did, under duress, and I’m so proud of you for keeping yourself and all of us safe from Krell. We would have had carnage if it had come to ‘sabers.”

“It’s been a long time since someone’s threatened my life. I didn’t expect it to hit me this hard,” Qui-Gon admitted.

Obi-Wan pulled back a bit to look him in the eye. “It’s the first time your limitations have been put to the test in a life or death situation,” he said softly.

“Yes.” Qui-Gon sighed, feeling more anchored than he did a minute ago, and eyeballed his reflection once more. He barked a mirthless laugh. “If I shave now, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Then let me do it,” Obi-Wan offered. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes in mock-suspicion. “I promise not to slit your throat.”

The adrenaline led Qui-Gon to dissolve into a fit of giggles. Obi-Wan snorted and directed him to sit on the lid of the toilet. Getting the laughter under control took the entire time that Obi-Wan needed to gather all the supplies he needed, most of them his own, from the bottom drawer. A few more giggles escaped as Obi-Wan tested the edge of the blade with his fingernail and determined it did not need honing. He tipped Qui-Gon’s chin up with a finger and raised a pair of slim-bladed scissors. “Keep still,” he ordered as he lined up the silver blades and set to trimming Qui-Gon’s beard to a more manageable length for the razor. Humming a little while he worked, Obi-Wan snipped and brushed the little hairs off Qui-Gon’s skin with the edge of a towel. He smiled in satisfaction when he finished. The scissors returned to the edge of sink, and he wrung out a towel that had been sitting in a hot bath. “You’ll like this part.”

“Oh!” Qui-Gon purred as Obi-Wan pressed the hot towel against the skin of his neck. “You’re right, I like this part,” he murmured. He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wall, enjoying the heat sinking into his throat. A few odd noises piqued his interest, and he cracked an eyelid to watch Obi-Wan whipping some shaving cream into a lather with a stout animal hair brush. Qui-Gon recognized the subtle, spicy scent as exactly the one that Obi-Wan wore and smiled.

“Ready?” asked Obi-Wan lightly. Qui-Gon nodded. Obi-Wan pulled the towel off and tossed it into the sink. Before Qui-Gon could protest, Obi-Wan had straddled his lap and was looking extremely pleased with himself. Slowly, Obi-Wan settled his weight onto Qui-Gon’s thighs and held up the foamy brush. “First, the lather.”

The lather was warm; Obi-Wan painted it onto Qui-Gon’s neck with the animal hair brush until every bit of beard there was hidden behind a thin blanket of shaving cream. He set the brush aside on the edge of the sink and picked up the straight razor. “Now, the blade. No sudden movements.” The cold edge of the metal razor pressed gently against the bottom of his chin. It scraped along his skin in small increments as Obi-Wan shaved with the grain. When the razor disappeared, Qui-Gon opened his eyes to watch Obi-Wan wipe the blade with the towel.

“Where did you learn this?” wondered Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan grinned. “I had a lot of time on my hands on the _Tortoise_. Shaving like this was both my sole luxury and one of the very few things I had control over. Don’t ever mention it to Siri, though, because she will happily regale you with stories about my early, bloody attempts before I figured out what the hells I was doing. I may have nearly cut my own throat when we hit some turbulence.”

“I don’t think I need the rest of that story,” Qui-Gon replied. Chuckling softly, Obi-Wan continued scraping hair and foam off Qui-Gon’s neck until Qui-Gon could feel cool air hitting his wet skin. The brush tickled him again, then Obi-Wan repeated his course over Qui-Gon’s neck—this time against the grain. The sensation of his lover in his lap with a razor at his throat was an odd mix of absolute trust, a touch of apprehension, and more than a bit of arousal. When Obi-Wan set the razor down once again and reached for the towel, he deliberately pressed his hips into Qui-Gon’s lap with a sultry smile.

“Almost done, love,” he murmured as he wiped Qui-Gon’s skin clean with the towel. He ran his fingers over the newly-revealed skin, looking for rough spots, and found one just under Qui-Gon’s jaw. Wielding his brush with a flourish, Obi-Wan swirled it around the shaving soap bowl to create more lather. He ran the brush through his other hand’s fist until he had a blob of foam, then dabbed it onto the rough spot. A quick pass with the razor, and Obi-Wan smiled as he wiped the last flecks of foam away. “There. Much better.”

Qui-Gon waited until Obi-Wan had set the razor, brush and towel back onto the sink counter before seizing him about the waist and pulling him hard against him. “I should shave you more often,” Obi-Wan said with a grin. He dipped his head and took his time kissing the sensitive pink skin just under Qui-Gon’s jaw. From Qui-Gon’s throat, a sound that was more growl than anything escaped; his hands wandered to Obi-Wan’s bottom and squeezed.

“I’m too old to do this here,” he rumbled into Obi-Wan’s ear, “and I can’t carry you to bed, so let’s go.”

With neither of them wanting to break contact, it took them ten minutes to travel the distance from ‘fresher to bedroom and finally fall into their bed in a tangle of limbs and groans.

*

The bed was a great height equalizer, and Qui-Gon enjoyed resting his head on Obi-Wan’s bare shoulder in the dim light. The Knight’s breathing was even and deep, but Qui-Gon knew that he was not sleeping. “Credit for your thoughts?” he asked as he rubbed circles on Obi-Wan’s bare stomach with his hand.

“Hard to sleep after what happened today,” replied Obi-Wan seriously. “Things are going to shite, Qui. And if Krell was feeding Palpatine information about what was going on here in-Temple, then we are at a disadvantage. Again.”

The implications of what Obi-Wan said hit a niggling spot that had been irritating Qui-Gon for days. He stiffened, and Obi-Wan noticed the movement. “What is it?”

“Krell must have been the one who told Palpatine that Rex and Cody were no longer on Coruscant,” he breathed. At Obi-Wan’s inquiring hum, he explained, “When Amidala and I ran into Palpatine, just before I presented the petition, he commented on their absence—not only from the proceedings, but from Coruscant itself. I confirmed it, but he was the one who brought it up first.”

Obi-Wan was trailing his hand soothingly up and down Qui-Gon’s arm. “You’re sure he mentioned it first?”

“I-I think so.” He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to remember, but the exchange was blurred with the fog of pain Palpatine seemed to elicit from his wound. “He must have. I wouldn’t have mentioned Rex and Cody being off-world otherwise. If anything, that’s proof that someone from the Temple was sending information to Palpatine.”

“Given Krell’s attitude towards the clones, I’d bet money that he was keeping a particular eye on them,” Obi-Wan said. “Evidence against him, but neither an indication of coercion nor deliberate action.”

Qui-Gon huffed abruptly. “We could ask Zannah.”

“What?” Obi-Wan replied, his voice tinged with disbelief. “No, Qui-Gon.”

“She might know something about drawing out Krell if he has deliberately Fallen.” Qui-Gon rolled out of bed. “I’d rather not talk to her alone again.”

Obi-Wan groaned into his pillow. “Damn it, Qui, I just want to go to sleep. Zannah will still be there in the morning if you insist.”

“But—” Qui-Gon started to protest, only to dodge a pillow-shaped projectile aimed at his head.

“No. Get your ass back in bed and we will chat with our lady Sith computer program in the morning, like proper Jedi,” growled Obi-Wan. He flung the covers back on Qui-Gon’s side of the bed and glared at Qui-Gon.

“First thing,” replied Qui-Gon as he slid back into bed.

“First thing,” Obi-Wan agreed. He snaked his arm over Qui-Gon’s hip and pressed a kiss to Qui-Gon’s bare shoulder. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

*

First thing turned out to be the crack of dawn, which required Qui-Gon to bribe his lover out of bed with a cup of tea and kisses. Qui-Gon did not let him finish the tea in their quarters, so Obi-Wan brought his mug with him. He drained the dregs just before the entrance to the Archives and hid the empty cup behind a bronzium statue of the first Jedi Archivist. “The last thing I need is Jocasta Nu’s wrath for bringing beverages into the Archives,” he said with a shrug at Qui-Gon’s eyebrow.

“I like that cup, you know.”

“I’ll go to lost and found myself if a cleaning droid picks it up,” Obi-Wan promised solemly.

They passed the main desk, and Qui-Gon had to stop and let the librarian on shift that they were headed to the Archive sub-levels. He pressed his access code into a datapad, which the librarian hummed over before nodding. “Let me know if you require assistance, Master Jinn,” they said.

As the ‘lift opened onto the secure Archive room level, Obi-Wan asked, “Did you tell Master Dooku that you were coming down here?”

Qui-Gon gave him a smug smile as they approached the holocron storage room. “If he has to come all the way down here becase he still has that alert subroutine on the door lock, then it will serve him right.” He punched in his Councilor access code and bent to let the machine scan his retina. The door hissed open. Qui-Gon felt the cold, dry air blow across his face and stir strands of hair around his shoulders. He stepped into the room, followed closely by Obi-Wan, and quickly wrapped himself in the Force to awaken Darth Zannah.

The holocron clicked and unfolded itself like a deadly flower. Zannah’s projection appeared above, and she raised her delicate eyebrow at him. “You again, Jedi?” she said, almost surprised.

He rubbed absently at his scar, which ached as she spoke. “Yes, me again, my lady Zannah.”

“And the one who healed you wrong,” she smirked.

Ignoring the jibe, Qui-Gon said, “We have a question for you.”

“Then ask it, Jedi.” She took on a listening pose with her hands clasped behind her back.

“How can we tell if a Jedi has been coerced by a Sith, or has Fallen of their own accord?”

Zannah’s face split into a wide smile. “An excellent question, and one that has no answer.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“A skilled Sith would leave no traces of coercion,” she answered. “And either way it makes no difference. A coerced Jedi will Fall to the dark side just as quickly as one who embraces their own anger; the variation is only a matter of how they started on the journey.” She peered at them with narrowed eyes. “You will execute your comrade anyway, why bother asking?”

Qui-Gon frowned. “It matters because we could protect a coerced Jedi from further harm,” he retorted, sounding far more confident than he felt.

His statement was met with ringing laughter from the tiny Zannah. “Like I said, your Jedi has already Fallen to the dark side. There is nothing left to do but kill them, yes?”

Obi-Wan rested his hand on Qui-Gon’s arm. “Let’s go,” he urged under his breath.

“One more question, lady Zannah,” Qui-Gon said, ignoring Obi-Wan’s tightening fingers on his elbow. Dooku’s insistence that holocrons could not lie echoed in his head. “I wish the whole truth from you. I know you did not lie to me before when I asked you, but I want you to tell me the entire truth. How did my wound become corrupted by the dark side?”

Zannah regarded him with calculating eyes. She tapped her fingers to her chin as she stared at him. “Very well, Jedi. You are correct that I have not lied to you, but since you ask directly, I will tell you. The corruption of a wound such as yours requires the dark side in three parts: that of the one who made the injury, that of the one doing the healing, and that of the one,” she paused, licking her lips, “being healed. It was your own fear, _Master_ Jedi, perhaps your fear of dying, that completed the trifecta and ensured your injury would never heal.”

“What do you mean, the one who made the injury?” demanded Obi-Wan.

“The Zabrak. You know how Sith release energy upon their death? That energy is dark, child, and _dark calls to dark_.”

“How did you know that the Zabrak died?” Qui-Gon said faintly.

“He held my holocron. I felt his death.” Zannah began to laugh. “You live, Jedi, but only because of the dark side.”

_My own fear._ Had he been afraid? As he laid on the cold floor, listening to ‘sabers hiss and Obi-Wan fall into the melting pit, had he been angry that he could barely breathe and do nothing to help him? The sudden memory overwhelmed him. He was there once more, the Force slipping away from his grasp as he tried to something, _anything_ , to help his Padawan destroy the Zabrak monster. The pain was even greater than anything his semi-healed scar had ever inflicted as he tried to breathe with destroyed organs. Then Obi-Wan was there, gently cradling his head, and Qui-Gon knew in that moment that he was going to die. He was going to leave his bright apprentice, alone and broken, and the Force cried out to him, demanding; he managed to hitch out something about training the boy because the Force was screaming at him, and the grief in Obi-Wan’s eyes was deep enough to drown in, and he was _so scared_ —

“Qui-Gon? Qui?” Obi-Wan’s fingers were gently stroking his hair and Qui-Gon opened his eyes. They were standing in the hallway, the holocron room doors closed behind them. A shudder ran through Qui-Gon’s body unbidden, and Obi-Wan gathered him into his arms.

“She’s right,” Qui-Gon whispered into Obi-Wan’s hair. “I was afraid. I didn’t remember that.”

Obi-Wan squeezed him hard. The warmth and weight of his limbs against Qui-Gon’s body were enough to let him breathe out the apprehension wrought by the holocron. “Let’s get out of here. I think we are finished with Darth Zannah. Leave her to the Shadows.”

With a nod, Qui-Gon allowed Obi-Wan to lead him out of the Archives, ignoring the angry throbbing of his scar.

*

The interrogation rooms, brightly lit and clinical, always had a vague feeling of anxiety surrounding them even when they were empty. Today, however, Qui-Gon could feel the tumult of rage emanating from the room where Pong Krell sat bound to the table. Compared to the spark of malice that Darth Zannah’s holocron emitted, this was a blaze. The entire room was visible through the one-way transparisteel window that faced Krell, and the flanking presences of both Obi-Wan and Mace were surprisingly comforting. Krell was watching them, or at least, his eyes were regarding his own reflection in the dark pane. The Besalisk did not blink, and his yellow eyes glittered with malevolence. For all the anger and hate emanating from him, his face was calm and neutral. He merely sat. A pang struck Qui-Gon’s chest, dark calling to dark, but he refused to flinch. “There is darkness in him,” Qui-Gon said, his voice low. “But whether it’s his own doing? That I can’t tell.”

A new voice, familiar and even, joined them. “That’s why you called me, isn’t it?” The three men turned to acknowledge the speaker, and Qui-Gon nodded respectfully.

“Kyoga,” he said.

The Weequay gave him a small smile. “Good morning, Qui-Gon. Master Windu,” he added with a graceful incline of his head. Upon seeing Obi-Wan, he flicked his eyes briefly to Qui-Gon. “If I’m not mistaken, you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“I am, Master Kyoga,” replied Obi-Wan with Knight’s bow to a Jedi Master. “It’s unfortunate that we’ve met under these circumstances.”

“Indeed.” Kyoga sidled up next to Mace to watch Krell through the window. He pressed his index finger against his cheek as he observed the Besalisk. “He’s made no statements to anyone?”

“No,” said Mace. “Cin Drallig reported that Krell had said nothing since he woke up in custody.”

“How did all of this,” he gestured broadly to the scene in front of him, “happen?”

“We received a tip that he’s been funnelling Temple security recordings to the Sith,” Mace replied, his tone hard. “We confronted him, he took Qui-Gon as a hostage, and Qui-Gon Suggested him into unconsciousness.”

Eyes wide with shock, Kyoga turned his gaze to his long-time patient. “You were able to do that?” he asked worriedly. At Qui-Gon’s nod, Kyoga started tapping his finger against the ridge of his cheek thoughtfully.

“What does that mean, Master?” demanded Mace.

Kyoga offered a tiny shrug. “We don’t have much research about the mental health of the Fallen,” he said with regret. “Usually they are disposed of before the Spirit Healers can get their hands on them. However, a Jedi Master being unstable enough for a Suggestion to work? That indicates to me that compulsion towards the dark side is a possibility. I may be able to uncover more when I speak to him.”

Qui-Gon reached out to pluck at Kyoga’s sleeve, to keep his sensitive Spirit Healer from Krell’s presence, but stopped himself. This was Kyoga’s job, dangerous as it was. “Be careful, Toro,” he said instead. “No matter what has happened, he is no longer the Jedi Master he once was.”

Kyoga inclined his head, accepting the warning, before he entered his access code and stepped into the interrogation room.

Bound to the table as he was, Krell could not move, but he kept his body completely still as Kyoga sat down across from him and folded his hands on the table. The Besalisk’s yellow eyes, Qui-Gon thought, could easily be hiding the corruption that came with the descent into the dark side. “Good morning, Master Krell,” Kyoga began. His voice, calm and even, was exactly the soothing tone that he had used in his first session with Qui-Gon. “I’m Master Kyoga. We have not met before, but I’m a Spirit Healer and I have been asked to find out how you are doing.”

Nostrils flaring, Krell narrowed his eyes. “Why would I waste my time with a Spirit Healer?” he snapped.

“Because right now I’m the only one you get to talk to,” replied Kyoga. “You can either talk to me, or you can spend your days alone until the Council decides what to do with you. It is to your benefit if you speak to me.”

“The Council,” Krell spat, “is just going to execute me, so why waste my time?”

“You don’t seem terribly concerned about defending your life against execution.”

Krell drew himself up as much as the binders allowed. “My death will be in service of the Republic,” he announced.

Mace, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan shared a disturbed look. “The _Republic_?” hissed Obi-Wan in disbelief. Mace waved him into silence.

“Living a long life of service with the Jedi would certainly benefit the Republic more than your premature death,” Kyoga pointed out. “How could your death be a greater sacrifice than that?”

“I have seen the Republic fall,” Krell announced. “I have seen it fall, and I have seen its salvation. I serve the Chancellor in all things, so that he may keep the galaxy from descending into chaos and war.”

“Kriff me,” Mace breathed.

“The Chancellor?” Kyoga asked, his curiosity genuine. “The Chancellor is merely a politician, one man. He alone does not control the fate of the entire galaxy.”

The smile that crept over Krell’s features was one that would haunt Qui-Gon’s dreams. He looked beatific in his gloating. “I have seen it. The Chancellor will rise above us all, and crush those who would oppose his vision of order. He will crush _you_.” The Besalisk flicked his gaze past Kyoga to the one-way window, as though he were speaking directly to the Jedi on the other side.

“Have you embraced the dark side, Master Krell?” Kyoga asked bluntly.

“I will do what I must to serve the Chancellor,” replied Krell.

Kyoga nodded, pushed back his chair, and left Krell to his smile. As soon as the door closed behind him, Kyoga wiped a hand over his eyes. “He is not well,” he announced.

“I hardly think we needed a Spirit Healer to determine that, Master Kyoga,” Mace retorted. “Anything more specific?”

Turning to watch his new subject through the window, Kyoga sighed heavily. “I checked his file before I came down here. Krell has a history of powerful Force visions, but he’s never seen a Spirit Healer to discuss the subject matter. It’s possible he did have a vision about the Chancellor, but as to the truth of his interpretation?” He shrugged. “I can sense that he is shrouded in darkness. He did not deny Falling, but neither did he confirm it. It’s possible he does not see his actions in those terms, since he believes he is carrying out his duty to the Republic. His fixation on the Chancellor is interesting. He is willing to die for his unwavering faith in the man. I’d be interested in finding out if they’ve ever actually met.”

Qui-Gon very studiously did not look at Mace, who also said nothing. Kyoga flicked his gaze at both of them. “Your determined silence suggests that you know something I do not,” he stated flatly. “I can’t be of much help if I do not have all the facts, Master Windu.”

Mace took a noisy, deep breath. “I suppose not. What I’m about to tell you is a matter of the highest secrecy. It goes no farther than this moment, and should you need to discuss it, you may only go privately to members of the High Council.”

“I understand.”

Mace leaned forward until he was cheek to cheek with the Weequay. “The Chancellor is the Sith,” Mace whispered.

Kyoga jerked away, shock painting his usually reserved face. He bit off a curse in his own language before closing his eyes and gathering his composure. “If that’s the case,” he said, managing to keep his voice calm, “then I would keep Master Krell contained and limit access to him until we determine whether they’ve had direct contact or if he has done all of this on his own. The former would suggest compulsion on top of a disturbing vision, while the latter would indicate his vision has led him to Fall to the dark side. We also cannot ignore the possibility that Krell has gone willingly to the Sith.”

Qui-Gon had an awful, sickly thought, and it tumbled from his lips. “What if there are others who would be susceptible to compulsion?”

“Like who?” Mace asked hesitantly.

“Anyone who has a background like Krell. Overwhelming visions. Anyone emotionally unstable, or grieving, or suffering a loss. Kyoga, is there anyone you’ve been seeing who would fit that description?”

The Weequay’s face became an iron mask. “I will not answer that,” he stated.

“But—”

Kyoga cut him off with a sharp hand gesture. “My patients have the right to privileged conversations and treatment. You know that, and I would have expected you to be the _last_ person to suggest I break that confidentiality.”

Frustrated and feeling desperate, Qui-Gon tried one more time. “Kyoga, the Order—”

“You want an answer? Fine,” Kyoga interrupted. The lines of his body screamed with tense upset, but his voice was flat and even. “Of all the Jedi in my care, the one person I would have said fits the profile of emotionally unstable, grieving, and suffering a loss would be _you_ , Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Mace and Obi-Wan exchanged shocked looks, while Qui-Gon felt Kyoga’s words like a physical blow. Toro Kyoga, not to be intimidated or interrupted, continued. His words held no malice, but in his hands, the truth was just as harsh. “However, that assessment no longer applies. You’ve healed, mentally if not physically, and I have deemed you fit to serve. Just because someone is suffering does not mean they cannot come back from their darkness. I will not give up on my patients, and as a High Councilor of the Order, you must not give up on your fellow Jedi. To do so would make us no better than the Sith.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head, breast full of shame. “You’re right, Master Kyoga, unequivocally. I was hasty and unthinking in my request.”

“Yes, you were. But you’re right in that we must watch out for our brethren.” Kyoga’s gaze slipped to the transparisteel window, where Krell’s unnerving smile still played on his face. “If you will excuse me, I have a great deal of work ahead of me.” He plucked a datapad and a stylus from his robes and took a calming breath before entering his door code once more.

Mace did not take his eyes off of Krell as Kyoga returned to the interrogator’s chair. “Obi-Wan, did you send the reply to the Chancellor?”

“I did. No response as of yet, but I’m rather hoping not to get one.”

“We don’t have any more time left,” he said in hushed tones. “We can’t afford any more spies, or compulsion, or Fallen Jedi. Who knows what else Krell has revealed? We have to do this, Qui-Gon. We have to do this now, before Sidious discovers our plan.”

Qui-Gon took a deep breath to steel himself. “As the Head of the Order wills it,” he said, with the most formal bow he could manage, “it shall be done.”

*

It was still a bit surprising that Senator Amidala cleared her schedule and agreed to meet him at the Temple. Unaware of the coming conversation, she smiled at him as she lowered her hood and took a seat at the conference table. “I received a good bit of news today,” she announced. At his raised eyebrows, she continued, “Boss Nass contacted me to let me know the MediCorps ship _Sanctuary_ had offered the Gungans supplies as part of a training exercise. He says that normally he has trouble telling us humanoids apart, but that these MediCorps trainees are ridiculously similar.” She giggled a bit, but her face fell when Qui-Gon’s set expression did not change.

“I’m glad to hear that they have arrived safely on Naboo, Senator,” he offered. “I just received the transmission from Abella an hour ago. But that is not why I asked you here, and I’m afraid that I have no good news to offer you.”

Padmé’s face was impassive as he laid out the story of how the lowly Senator Palpatine of Naboo, a generally unknown career politician came to the Chancellorship in the middle of a crisis over the expected nominations of much more high-profile, experienced Senators. He told her of the Zabrak that had nearly killed him twice, on Tatooine and on Naboo, and his exploits throughout the Outer Rim. He told her of the Trade Federation, and Black Sun, and the shreds of intelligence and whispers that kept tying Naboo and the Trade Federation together. He told her about the Jedi report about the Naboo Invasion that never surfaced in the Senate. He told her about the bedside visit on Naboo, and what had been said about Anakin. He told her about declining Jedi populations and manipulated budgets. He told her about the Kaminoan comm logs, and Krell.

She looked at him, troubled. “You’ve told me much, Master Jinn.”

“I have, Senator, both because I trust you and because we need you to act.”

She stood and paced the length of the table. “You barely have circumstancial evidence and current public and political opinion is against you,” she argued. “Any attempt to undermine the Chancellor now would simply look like an attempt to take eyes away from the current mess or that I’m a puppet of the Jedi. Which,” she paused, her eyes blazing, “I am not.”

Qui-Gon gave her a tight smile. “No one in this Temple believes you’re a puppet of anyone, Senator. Tell me, do you remember what the Zabrak felt like?” She stopped pacing and crossed her arms halfway over her chest in reaction before she stopped herself and deliberately let her arms hang at her sides. He nodded. “You’re Force-sensitive, Padmé. Not enough to be a Jedi, but enough to be more attuned to people’s feelings and reactions. Most people who are natural politicians are. You saw the Zabrak in the Theed hangar. What did he feel to you?”

“Repulsive,” she said quietly, almost in disbelief. “Rotten.”

“That’s what the Sith can feel like. It can also feel oily, like someone is always watching you, even after they’ve gone.”

The colour had drained from the young woman’s features. “I never told anyone. There was no reason to. He never laid a finger on me, or said an unkind word, or even looked at me too long, so I thought I was just being silly. Too many stories from Senate pages about lecherous old men and young women, you know? It was only ever after he was gone, and no one else said anything, so I ignored it.”

Qui-Gon took the opportunity to relay what Eirtaé had confessed to him. Padmé sank into the nearest chair and slowly placed her hands on the top of the meeting table.

“I was the one who got him elected,” she whispered. When she looked at him then, she looked as young as she was. “I got a Sith Lord elected as Chancellor of the Republic.”

Qui-Gon shook his head kindly. “No, Padmé. He knew just how to manipulate you, just as he has manipulated all of us. You cannot blame yourself, please.”

She sat in silence for a moment, contemplating, and Qui-Gon waited patiently. Finally, she sat up, back straight as a rod. She laid her hands on top of each other on the tabletop with a minute nod to herself. Senator Amidala, former Queen of Theed and the saviour of her people from the destruction of the Trade Federation, directed her level gaze at him.

“This—if I do what is necessary, I will need the Jedi to help.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head to her. “This is our last chance for a political confrontation before we move to more aggressive action. We serve, Senator. We will serve you and the people of Naboo and the future of peace in the galaxy. I regret only that we did not adequately serve your citizens during the Trade Federation invasion.”

“Perhaps you did all you could, given what you’ve told me. I will table this in tomorrow’s session as a matter of urgency. Are the Jedi prepared?”

“We are, Senator. We will be there as you require.”

“May the Force help us all,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! Is the tension getting to you yet? This whole Krell thing hit me over the head unbidden, but I'm not sorry.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Aryax and her lovely beta skills. I'm dedicating the hot shave to Tygermama over on the Tumbles, because I know she enjoyed it. :D


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon officially gets his shit together.

With Padmé safely away from the Temple, her bearing as impassive as it ever had been during the entire Naboo invasion, Qui-Gon made the necessary preparations for the coming morning. He spent the day chasing down Councilors, giving them Mace’s order and bracing himself against their grim, secretly horrified eyes. The Temple seemed to hum with an undercurrent of activity and the sharp tang of worried anticipation. He did not stop moving until late afternoon, when Tahl frowned at him and pressed a ration bar from her belt pouch into his hand. “There’s nothing left to be done, Qui-Gon,” she said. “Not until dawn.”

He stared at the packaged ration in his hand and she narrowed her striped eyes. “Eat it, you stupid man, before I stuff it in your mouth, because I might not unwrap it first.”

With a snort of laughter, he did as he was so politely instructed, though he broke it in half and held it out until she relented. They chewed their ration bar in silence, watching and listening to the activity on the Grand Stair. Masters who had not set foot in the Temple in years hurried up and down the steps, pausing every once in a while to whisper to an old friend, or to squeeze a familiar shoulder in passing. “I don’t remember us ever feeling this way,” she said softly. Qui-Gon knew full well she was referring to the Jedi as a whole.

“I do,” he replied, “but only in Mace’s vision. It was like this at the beginning of the war.” He opened his mouth again to explain the Clone Wars, but she shook her head and stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I don’t want to know, Qui-Gon. I can tell from your voice that it was bad, with a bad ending, and I don’t want to know anything more.”

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“ _Now_ you’re asking that?”

He sighed. “I suppose I am.”

Tahl crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him, the effect of which had never diminished after her blinding. “Qui-Gon Jinn, you are the one who has legitimized all of this. You found the clones. You saw Mace’s insane vision, and you believed him. You are at the forefront of change for the Order. You’ve been orbiting this entire mess since you came back from Naboo.”

“Even before that,” he countered. “In the vision, the Zabrak killed me.”

“Sweet Force,” she breathed. Her fingers dug into his arm.

“It’s entirely possible that I’m not supposed to be here, Tahl. But I think that if that’s true, it’s because the Force wills it, and Mace had his vision because the Force has given us a chance to prevent the dark side from destroying the Jedi and oppressing the galaxy.”

“So the Force has given you a second chance?” asked Tahl, expression troubled.

He nodded slowly. “I think the Force has given all of us a second chance. We shouldn’t squander it.”

“No,” she replied. She squeezed his arm again, this time soothingly. “We shouldn’t. Go find him, Qui-Gon. Who knows what we will find tomorrow.”

Impulsively, he put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. She made a surprised noise in the back of her throat, but hugged him back.

*

 

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was quiet at dusk. The Coruscanti sun splashed vivid oranges and pinks through the transparisteel windows, and the ceiling illusion added the deepning purple at its height. Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the feel of the long grass tickling his face. The energy of the room was calm and quiet, thrumming softly under his hand like the bees buzzing around them. Obi-Wan sighed next to him. He had not needed much convincing for a sojourn in the gardens. His hand found Qui-Gon’s, and they intertwined their fingers. The contact still gave Qui-Gon a little thrill; the heat and happiness he felt every time their skin met filled his heart until it might burst, and for the first time in his life, Qui-Gon Jinn truly understood what it was to live in the moment.

He turned his head, opening his eyes to gaze upon his copper Knight. Obi-Wan was watching the sky illusion with a relaxed expression. A single bee landed on the tip of his nose. Obi-Wan allowed the fuzzy insect to wiggle for a moment, then tried to dislodge it with a gentle stream of air from his lips. The bee lifted into the air and disappeared. “Marry me,” Qui-Gon said, his voice quiet.

Obi-Wan slowly angled his head to stare at him. A brilliant, beaming smile overtook his features. “I thought you’d never ask,” he whispered in awe. “When all this is over—”

Qui-Gon shook his head, ignoring the grass tangling in his beard. “No. Now. Marry me tonight, my Obi-Wan. I will never love another the way I love you. I will not go into tomorrow unless I am your husband.”

“Then let’s go,” replied Obi-Wan, his grin still not abating. He rose from the grass, automatically helping Qui-Gon when he needed it, and kept their hands laced as he pulled the older Jedi in for a sweet kiss.

Their walk through the halls of the Jedi Temple, wearing grins and clasped hands, did not go unnoticed. Uncaring, they hurried past scores of frowning Masters, gaping Knights, confused Padawans, and snickering Initiates. Whispers and the feeling of stares followed them around every corner. In the final knot of Initiates they encountered, an incredulous voice called to them, “What are you two doing?”

Obi-Wan halted at the sound and turned to face Ahsoka Tano, who was pushing her way through her crèchemates with an accusatory look in her wide blue eyes. “Are you supposed to be holding hands?” she demanded.

“Yes, Ahsoka, we are,” replied Obi-Wan patiently. In that moment, Qui-Gon could see the great teacher he would become, and pride filled him.

“Why?” The Togrutan girl folded her arms across her chest in suspicion.

“Because we are getting married.” The Initiates flew into a flurry of gasps and titillated giggles. “Want to come?”

Ahsoka stood with her mouth gaping at the Knight and the Master. Her head swivelled from one to the other, then she firmly shut her jaw and grabbed Obi-Wan’s free hand. “Yup, I do.”

The trio set off down the corridor again. _I hope that’s okay,_ Obi-Wan sent, his mental voice sounding a bit contrite. _It seemed like the right thing._

Qui-Gon glanced down at Ahsoka, who was glaring daggers at everyone they passed with the fiercest expression of protection he had ever seen. If Obi-Wan had any doubts about claiming the girl one day, it was too late now; Ahsoka had claimed him for herself. _I don’t think it could be more right, my love. Although I wonder how long it will take for the rumour mill to reach the entire Temple._

_Ten credits says Yoda knows before we even get to him._

_That’s too easy. Ten credits says Mace knows before we even get to him._ Qui-Gon nodded placidly at Ki-Adi-Mundi, who was outright gawking at them, and hurried past the Cerean quickly enough to not have to explain himself.

Obi-Wan chuckled aloud. “You’re on,” he murmured. The crowded corridors thinned out as they reached the personal quarters. Qui-Gon led them to a door with a shiny new plate next to it that read: _Tahl and Kyarri_. He pressed the chime, and the door slid open to reveal Kyarri’s reddish furred face. Her keen eyes took in the tableau and stepped back to call into the rooms.

“It’s Master Qui-Gon and Knight Kenobi, Master Tahl.”

“And Ahsoka Tano!” called Ahsoka cheerfully. Kyarri gave the girl a disapproving twitch of her ears, which Ahsoka ignored.

“Let them in, please,” Tahl’s voice came from the kitchen. She appeared from behind the wall separating the kitchen from the sitting room and fixed her striped eyes on Qui-Gon. “Something’s going on, I can practically taste it.”

“Obi-Wan and I are getting married,” Qui-Gon replied, trying to keep his voice from cracking as a sudden wave of emotion washed over him. The tip of Kyarri’s tail swished with interest despite watching them out of the corner of her eye.

“That maybe wasn’t quite what I meant earlier, but okay,” she said with a wry smile. “Congratulations! When—”

“Now. Right now,” Qui-Gon cut her off. “You coming?”

The Noorian’s face scrunched in confusion. “Wait, what? Now? As in, _tonight_?”

“Yup!” interjected Ahsoka. Obi-Wan wrestled his hand back from her, twisted his shoulders towards her, and put his finger to his lips. The Togrutan widened her eyes in apology and nodded gravely.

“We’re rounding up our witnesses, Tahl, and I wouldn’t want to do this without my oldest friend along. So?”

A wide, genuine grin crept over her features. “Of course I’m coming. Kyarri, would you care to join us?”

The Amaran already had a holorecorder and a notebook in her hands, though Qui-Gon could not remember her slipping away and back. She was sneaky, this one; Tahl deserved her. “I can’t pass up the chance to document a Jedi marriage,” she said shyly. “There hasn’t been an openly married Jedi couple in, oh, at least three hundred years?” At the sudden attention by the adults in the room, she bared her teeth in a nervous smile. “Give or take a few decades?”

After stopping to collect Bant, whose high-pitched squeal of delight had made everyone wince, they had become quite a procession through the Temple halls. At the junction that led to the senior Master quarters, Dooku barred their way. Standing in the middle of the corridor, resplendent in his pressed black suit and cape lined with red silk, he folded his arms across his chest. His curved silver lightsaber hung at his hip. Obi-Wan detached himself from Ahsoka with a quiet word, then he and Qui-Gon met the elder Jedi a few steps removed from their companions.

Dooku’s face was an impenetrable mask, cold and expressionless. “And what is this foolishness?” he rumbled.

“We’re getting married, my Master. Tonight,” replied Qui-Gon, keeping his voice low.

A long, tense moment passed, with Dooku staring at each man in turn. Not a single muscle on his face twitched, no quirk of his lips or blink of his eye revealed his thoughts. Even in the Force, Dooku was blank. Qui-Gon was suddenly doubting everything he knew about his mentor, doubting if he should have announced their intention to marry out loud—

Dooku threw his arms around his Padawan and grand-Padawan and pulled them into a tight embrace. Qui-Gon wrapped his arm around Dooku’s back and squeezed in return. Against his ear, he heard Dooku murmur, “It’s about bloody time someone got married around here.”

Obi-Wan sounded bewildered in his head. _I didn’t quite expect this from him. Frankly, I didn’t think he would approve._

_Things are changing, my love, and things have been changing for him since he lost Komari. Besides, if anything, as long as his favourite is happy, he’s happy._

Dooku pulled back, face composed as though he had not just ruined his reputation as a grouchy old man by hugging his friends in public. “Well? Let’s get on with it, then. I don’t have all night.”

The final door they approached opened to reveal the gangly and confused Anakin Skywalker. His eyebrows rose into his mass of unruly curls at the sight of them. “Uh, hi?”

“Good evening, Padawan Skywalker,” Obi-Wan said formally. “Is Master Windu in residence?”

Anakin nodded, his bright blue eyes taking in the identities of everyone standing at his door. When they lit upon Ahsoka, who had silently but determinedly reclaimed Obi-Wan’s hand, he frowned. “Snips, what are _you_ doing here?”

“I’m here to watch.”

“Watch what?”

Before Ahsoka could reply, Mace Windu, accompanied by Yoda, appeared behind Anakin. “What is this?” he snapped.

“Master Windu,” Qui-Gon said with a formal bow. His scar did not even protest. “Knight Kenobi and I would humbly ask for the Head of the Jedi Order to perform our marriage ceremony this evening.”

Stunned, the Korun just stared at them. _I guess neither of us won that bet,_ Obi-Wan joked, sounding nervous.

_I suppose not._

Yoda smacked Mace’s shin with his gimer stick. “Rude to keep them waiting, it is,” chastised the troll. “Wanted change, you did. Standing on your doorstep, it is.” Obi-Wan smiled at the old Jedi; clearly Yoda had meditated upon the matter and had come out on their side.

Mace still stood frozen, so Anakin moved out of the doorway and beckoned them inside. The influx of bodies seemed to snap Mace out of his astonishment, and he rounded on Qui-Gon. “Are you insane?” He turned his gaze to include Obi-Wan. “Are you both insane?”

“No more than usual,” replied Qui-Gon calmly. “But Master Yoda is right. You wanted change, and you recruited me to help you. Well, this is one more change that I’m putting into place. I want the Jedi to see that love is not attachment, and that we can be happy without sacrificing our duty.”

Mace opened his mouth to reply, but he unexpectedly tilted his head to catch a glimpse of his Padawan, who was graciously seating people on the couch and instructing Ahsoka and Kyarri to fetch more chairs from the kitchen and his bedroom. As if sensing his Master’s eyes on him, Anakin twisted to meet his dark eyes. Mace nodded approvingly at his apprentice. “Okay,” he said. Yoda grunted in approval.

Anakin had the guests comfortably seated in a semi-circle facing the window, which displayed the last pink vestiges of the sunset. Bant had helped him raid the cupboards, and plates of crackers and cheeses and the weird salty cookies filled with jam that Mace liked covered the coffee table. Tahl had absconded with Qui-Gon, claiming he needed to have something done with his hair. Qui-Gon had followed her into the ‘fresher, but not without noticing Dooku offering Obi-Wan a swig from a silver-tooled leather flask. Obi-Wan raised the flask to his grand-Master in a grateful toast before taking a long swallow; he caught Qui-Gon’s eye and winked.

Tahl made him sit on the closed lid of the toilet as she pulled out the leather tie holding back his hair. She sighed. “Between Mace and Anakin, I don’t think either of them owns a comb.”

Laughter bubbled up through him. He laughed until tears leaked at the corners of his eyes, too close to nervous hysteria for him to stop. Tahl pulled his head to her midsection and held it there firmly. “You’re fine, Qui-Gon. Take a deep breath.”

He did as she instructed, inhaling through his nose, holding it, then exhaling through his mouth a few times until the edge of mania subsided. “Good,” she said, releasing him.

“This is insane,” he blurted.

“Yep,” Tahl replied as she began combing his hair with her long fingers. “But we’ve come to expect that from you, and I’m pretty sure getting married in earnest with absolutely no warning doesn’t even make the top ten craziest things you’ve done.”

His chuckle was gentle, this time, as she began to braid his hair. “I suppose you have a point.”

When they were finished, Qui-Gon had a fishtail braid running from the crown of his head. Tahl ran the tips of her fingers down the strands and smiled. “Still got it,” she boasted as she palmed open the door. Waiting at the doorway was Dooku, who held out the flask for Qui-Gon. He took it hesitantly. _I don’t want to do this drunk,_ he told Obi-Wan, who grinned at him from across the room.

_I’m sure as hell not doing this entirely sober,_ he laughed.

_You’re such a damned pirate._ Qui-Gon lifted the flask towards his copper Knight and lifted the flask to his lips. The chocolate hints of Dooku’s expensive whiskey filled his nose, and warmth filled his belly as he swallowed. He passed the drink back to Dooku, who took a nip before capping it and tucking it into one of the hidden pockets of his cape.

“Are you just going to stand there staring at Obi-Wan all night, or can we move this along?” Mace asked, sounding only slightly less irritable than Qui-Gon would have expected. Yoda, on the other hand, smacked the Korun in the same spot with his gimer stick, making Mace flinch.

The lights of Coruscant’s traffic and buildings sparkled, drowning out the lights of the stars, as Qui-Gon stood facing his copper Knight, surrounded by his friends. Mace cleared his throat. “It’s rare for Jedi to wed,” he began. “Our Order is an ascetic one, eschewing the bonds of love in favour of our duty to the galaxy. We have no ancient words, no ceremony for this, so while I preside over this event, I will leave it to Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi to speak before these witnesses. Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan dropped Qui-Gon’s left hand and dipped his fingers into his belt pouch. He held something in his clenched fist as he spoke, his ocean-deep eyes not wavering from Qui-Gon’s face. “I am a Jedi Knight. I have no possessions of note, no wealth, and no inheritance.” He unfurled his fingers, and in the centre of his palm, the green birthday stone waited. Qui-Gon smiled, surprised to see it, and wondered when Obi-Wan had stolen it back from the bedside table. “I gave this to you, once, as a trinket to make you smile on your birthday when we were parted. I would give this to you, again, as a token of my love for you and reminder that you carry my heart with you wherever you go.”

Qui-Gon seized the opportunity and produced the river stone from his own belt pouch. At seeing the red-veined black rock, Obi-Wan grinned. “I am a Jedi Master. I have nothing to offer you except myself. I gave this to you, once, as a gift to help you be mindful of the Force. I’ve kept it with me for four years, and now I would give this to you again to remind you that both I and the Force will be with you, always.”

He pressed the stone into Obi-Wan’s empty hand, and his copper Knight’s eyes widened. “It feels like you,” he breathed.

“And when I hold it, it feels like you,” replied Qui-Gon, his voice equally hushed. He could not tear his gaze away from Obi-Wan’s face; the pale skin and copper hair were becoming a bit blurry.

After a moment of no one saying anything, Mace cleared his throat quietly. “If there’s nothing else? As the Head of the Jedi Order, I declare Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi to be married, with all the rights and responsibilities that legal marriage in the Galactic Republic brings.” He glanced around at the expectant faces, he added, “I wish you long and happy lives together.”

Ahsoka’s high, young voice cut through the silence. “I think you’re supposed to kiss him, Knight Kenobi.”

The room dissolved into giggles as Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow to the Togrutan. “Thanks for the tip,” he stage-whispered. He closed his hand over the river stone and snaked his wrist around Qui-Gon’s neck. “Apparently I’m supposed to kiss you.”

Forgoing the witty reply, Qui-Gon bent his head. Their lips met to a round of applause and cheers, but Qui-Gon’s senses fell away until his whole world was the taste of whiskey on Obi-Wan’s lips and the warm weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on the back of his neck. _This is much better than waiting,_ Obi-Wan mused. _Now, how long until we can get out of here?_

*

Their friends did not let them leave until all the food and drinks were gone. According to the chrono, it was almost midnight. Yoda had left, citing a need for meditation before the morning along with his reserved congratulations. Ahsoka had fallen asleep, curled up with her head on the thigh of a surprisingly tolerant Dooku. With a glare at Obi-Wan, Dooku hefted the girl into his arms a little awkwardly. Ahsoka wrapped her arms around his neck without opening her eyes and snuggled in under his jaw. “If the crèchemaster yells at me for returning his charge so late, I’m sending her straight to you, grand-Padawan. This,” he rolled his eyes towards the Togruta, “is not my fault.”

“Duly noted, grand-Master,” said Obi-Wan, sketching a bow with a grin. Dooku muttered something under his breath, hitched Ahsoka higher against his chest, and left. From her spot on the couch, Tahl coughed into her hand to cover her smile.

“That’s it for us, too, I think.” She rose, ushering her yawning Padawan to the door. She paused to hug both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. “Take your young man home, Qui-Gon,” she whispered, loud enough for the room to hear, before she escorted Kyarri out of Mace’s quarters.

Qui-Gon clasped Obi-Wan’s hand and gave it a small tug. “Ready?”

Before Obi-Wan could reply, Mace stepped closer. “You’ve given all of us plenty to consider,” he said. He nodded his head slightly in Anakin’s direction as his apprentice stacked plates full of crumbs. “You may get a lot of pushback from those in the Order, but I promise you both that you have my support, publicly and otherwise.”

“Thank you, Mace. It is appreciated,” replied Qui-Gon. “Still regret putting me on the Council?”

“Every kriffing day,” said Mace with no little exasperation in his small smile. “Get out of here. Go set a good example for non-attachment.”

“Yes, Master Windu.” Qui-Gon nodded formally while Obi-Wan stifled a giggle borne of whiskey and the late hour.

The walk back to their quarters—they could get a new nameplate for the door now—was blessedly brief and lacked bystanders. When they entered, Obi-Wan pulled off his leather jacket and hung it up on the hook by the door. He toed off his boots, then knelt to ease Qui-Gon’s boots off without hesitation. Neither of them moved to turn on the lights; the orange lights of Coruscant’s never-ending traffic and never-closed buildings cast long, dark shadows around the room. The dim light upon Obi-Wan’s face emphasized the hesitation in his expression. Qui-Gon did not blame him; standing here, alone with his husband—his _husband!—_ in their own home for the first time, left him oddly nervous, as though a word, an action, would irrevocably change this moment.

Obi-Wan, his brave Knight, smiled ruefully. “Now what?” he asked, his words soft.

“Now I would take you to bed, my love, before the morning comes,” Qui-Gon replied. Without another word, Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon’s hand and led him to the bedroom. The same orange light from the window offered just enough light to navigate. Qui-Gon pulled his copper Knight to him and bent his head to kiss him gently. The contact was grounding. They stood in the orange glow, bodies close and lips just touching, revelling in each other’s presence. Then Obi-Wan pressed in harder, opening his mouth slightly and working his hands at Qui-Gon’s belt. The leather dropped to the floor, and Qui-Gon enjoyed Obi-Wan’s fingers peeling his tunics away, one by one. The fabric fell, too, crumpled in a pile at their feet. He shivered at the cool air on his bare skin.

Obi-Wan moved away slightly, breaking their kiss to run his warm palms firmly down Qui-Gon’s arms. He traced wide swaths against Qui-Gon’s back as he kissed his way over Qui-Gon’s collarbone. Pausing at the circular scar, he deliberately skimmed his lips over the angry mass of puckered tissue. Qui-Gon could not feel the touch of his husband’s lips, but he could feel guilt and shame from Obi-Wan over the bond. “Will you forgive yourself, my Obi-Wan?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Obi-Wan stared at the scar for another heartbeat, then raised his eyes to meet Qui-Gon’s. “If you forgive me, then I can forgive myself.”

Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around the younger man, squeezing him tightly. “I forgive you now just as I always have. Your husband forgives you.”

“Okay.” They stood for a minute, listening to each other’s breaths. “I love you, Qui.”

“I love you, Obi-Wan.” Then Obi-Wan’s mouth was on his, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands fumbled with his own belt. Qui-Gon tugged on the green shirt, swearing when he could not figure out how to get it off his spouse. With a laugh, Obi-Wan took a step back and pulled on a loop at his hip, then flipped the garment over his head. His pale skin was bright in the dim light. Under the tips of his fingers, Qui-Gon could feel gooseflesh rising on Obi-Wan’s arms. _If you’re that cold, get under the blankets,_ Qui-Gon told him, not wanting to remove his lips from the very attractive neck he was currently nuzzling.

Obi-Wan practically dove into bed, wiggling under the blankets and tossing his leggings across the room. _I’m not warming this bed by myself._

“I’m wearing too many clothes,” chuckled Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan snaked his arms out from under the covers and hooked his fingers under Qui-Gon’s waistband. He pulled the fabric down, exposing Qui-Gon’s erection. Before Qui-Gon could step out of his leggings, Obi-Wan darted forward and dragged his tongue over the tip. He laughed at the groan that escaped Qui-Gon’s throat.

“Get in here before I get lonely,” he teased, pairing his low voice with that feral smile that made Qui-Gon ache with want.

_How could I possibly let my spouse be lonely?_ retorted Qui-Gon as he slid between the sheets Obi-Wan held open for him. _Especially on our wedding night?_

Obi-Wan’s feet were cold but his hands were like brands. Every time he moved his palms, it left Qui-Gon’s skin bereft of his heat. They lay facing each other, Obi-Wan pillowed on Qui-Gon’s outstretched arm. With his free hand, Qui-Gon skimmed his fingers down his lover’s ribs, over his hip, then pulled him closer. Obi-Wan gasped at the contact, then moaned as Qui-Gon’s hand engulfed them both; neither of them had much to say even as they whispered encouragement and exhaltations into each other’s skin.

*

They managed to sleep until an hour before the Coruscanti dawn. The festive, joyous attitude of the night before had been replaced with the tension of coming battle. They dressed in silence. Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon settle the layers of his tunics and carefully wrapped his obi before offering him the long-unused lightsaber. Qui-Gon took the ‘saber, clipped it to his belt, and pressed a chaste kiss to Obi-Wan’s lips. Obi-Wan ran his fingers over his own blade hilt, hung in the spot he had normally used in the last years of his apprenticeship, and led Qui-Gon by the hand to their meditation mats.

Qui-Gon had never before had such difficulty sinking into his meditation. Whirling thoughts refused to calm: the clones and his failure to get them Republic membership, possible judicial charges for his actions on Kamino, Darth Zannah’s holocron waiting in the Archives, Krell, Mace, Obi-Wan, _dark calls to dark_ —

Obi-Wan reached out and placed his hands on Qui-Gon’s shoulders. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Breathe with me.”

In his mind, that lovely knot that was Obi-Wan was a soothing, solid presence. He focused on that comfort, timing his breathing with Obi-Wan’s. His heart rate slowed as his mind drifted. He could feel the beat of Obi-Wan’s heart in the Force. In his own chest, he could feel the nerves surrounding his scar twitching in time with Obi-Wan’s heartbeat—

With a gasp, Qui-Gon snapped his eyes open and squeezed Obi-Wan’s fingers in his own. “It’s you,” he breathed.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and peered at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“ _You’re_ the common element. Every time I encountered Palpatine, or Darth Zannah, or Krell, my injury reacted. The difference in whether it broke open and bled was your presence. When you’re with me when I encounter the dark side, there’s pain, but no lasting or debilitating injury to my scar.” He rubbed his chest through the layers of fabric with a wondering smile.

“What does that mean?” Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe it’s because you were the one who healed me on Naboo. Maybe it has to do with our bond.” He laughed. “Maybe it’s love. I don’t know. I don’t care right now, but it means that if we go into this today, together, I don’t have to worry about dropping the second Palpatine looks in my direction. I won’t be useless and bleeding on the floor before anything happens.”

“For now, I’ll take it. We can philosophize another day,” Obi-Wan said with a small smile. “Now, Master Jinn, let us meditate properly.”

“Yes, dear.” That earned him a spectacular eye-roll; Qui-Gon smiled to himself and closed his eyes. He drifted into his meditation within a few heartbeats, finally at ease for the first time in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, folks! I hope you enjoyed this fluffiest of fluffy chapters, because next chapter is gonna be rough. Special thanks to Sanerontheinside for doing a quick read-through for me. <3 Happy weekend!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final plan to unfuck the timeline plays out in the Senate dome.

Mace caught them just as they were coming out of their meditation by actually knocking on the door instead of hitting the chime.

A wave of horrible foreboding hit Qui-Gon even as he flicked his hand to open the door with the Force. From the threshold, he could see Mace’s face was grey-tinged, and Qui-Gon spoke before Mace had the chance. “Someone’s dead,” he declared. Mace only nodded slightly, and the Force provided him with the answer. The name fell from his lips. “Kyoga.”

“What?” Obi-Wan breathed. He helped Qui-Gon to his feet and both of them crossed the room to meet the Korun Master.

“Krell,” replied Mace faintly. For the first time since he had revealed his vision to Qui-Gon, his friend appeared deeply shaken. “Come.”

Mace refused to speak as they hurried to the interrogation room where they had seen Krell the day before. With every step, Qui-Gon’s heart sank further. Toro Kyoga had been a Healer, a solver of problems. Never had he raised his voice or hand in violence. Never had he belittled, or disrespected, or judged harshly. It felt as though a hand were squeezing Qui-Gon’s heart as they turned the corner and came upon a scene of controlled chaos.

Cin Drallig was directing a team of masked Temple guards in documenting the area. Upon seeing Mace, the head of security waved him over. “It’s a matter of investigation, now,” he said in a low voice, forgoing polite greeting.

Mace said something in return, but Qui-Gon was not listening. His eyes reluctantly dragged across the transparisteel window. The two chairs in the interrogation room had been knocked over, and the metal table had a huge dent in the middle. On the floor, two bodies had been covered with white sheets. One was mountainous, clearly Krell. The smaller form had a grey hand poking out of the edge of the sheet. A lightsaber hilt, small and smooth, lay just out of reach. The feel of Obi-Wan’s hand on his elbow brought him back to the conversation.

“—The guards were unable to get inside in time. They told me they suspect Krell blocked the door with the Force. The recording tapes are damaged,” Drallig was saying. “There’s no audio. Here.” He produced a datapad with a large viewing screen and tapped a few controls to pull up the video.

Krell and Kyoga were sitting at the table, facing each other. Kyoga’s mouth was moving as he spoke, and Krell was nodding. Faster than Qui-Gon could believe, Krell was suddenly standing, binders ripping apart, and Kyoga was pulled from his seat with the Force. The Besalisk dropped him onto the table, denting the metal. Mouth moving and eyes glowing with malevolence, Krell raised his arms in what looked like a killing blow—and then a sunny yellow lightsaber blade slashed him across the throat. Clearly screaming, Krell started to crumple. As he slid to the floor, his second pair of arms reached out and grabbed Kyoga by the skull and _twisted._ Kyoga gave a great twitch and fell off the table to join Krell’s unmoving form on the floor.

“Sweet Force,” Obi-Wan breathed. “I’m sorry, Qui-Gon.” _Are you going to be okay?_ he asked over the bond, concerned and sympathetic.

_I don’t have a choice. Kyoga would want me to do my duty today, just as he did his duty in this. There will be time to grieve later. He wasn’t my friend, not exactly, but he cared about me. He helped me, even when I felt I didn’t deserve help or need help. He…this should not have happened to him._

Qui-Gon took a step back, breathing evenly to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t even know he had a lightsaber. He never left the Temple.”

“Master Kyoga was a brave man and a good Jedi,” Drallig said quietly. “Had he not done what he did, Krell would have escaped. There’s no telling what kind of destruction he could have unleashed on the Temple.”

Mace took a deep breath, as if steeling himself, and nodded to Drallig. “Thank you, Cin. You can report any further findings to Master Yaddle until the Council is back in session.”

Raising an eyebrow, Drallig tucked the datapad under his arm. “And when will that be?”

“Tomorrow,” Mace replied. Then, too quiet for anyone but Qui-Gon to hear, he added, “Unless we’re all in prison or dead.”

*

A series of chartered transports waited to bring the Jedi to the Senate dome in staggered shifts. On platform eight-jenth, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, subdued and silent, waited in the dim light before dawn with fifty of their brethren. No one spoke, and Qui-Gon could tell by sinking slightly into the Force that many of his fellow Jedi were in light trances to calm their nerves and pass the time. Qui-Gon was the only one clad in traditional Jedi robes; all the others wore the kind of clothing that would blend in on a hundred worlds. Lightsabers were hidden in the folds of long tunics or travelling capes, in voluminous trousers and even the loose tops of boots. Qui-Gon had to stop himself from running his fingertips over the casing of his ‘saber and put both Kyoga and his own apprehension out of his mind. From the inner corridor, the sound of heavy booted feet running caught his attention. With the advantage of his height, he spotted gleaming armour and two identical faces.

Rex held up his hand. “Master Qui-Gon!” he called. Obi-Wan turned to the sound and followed Qui-Gon as he waded through the group of Jedi. Rex and Cody came to an abrupt halt, painted helmets tucked under their arms, and snapped to attention before Qui-Gon waved them off. “Good, we caught you before you left,” Rex said evenly. The run through the Temple did not seem to have even winded him.

“What are you two doing here?” Qui-Gon hissed. “You are supposed to be on Naboo.”

The clones exchanged a glance, then Cody said, “We volunteered to come back, Master Qui-Gon. Healer Abella’s protocol for destroying the chips is proceeding better than she expected, and the last of our brothers should be making landfall on Naboo in a few hours. We wanted to return to help our petition to join the Republic, so she sent us back.”

It was Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s turn to exchange dark glances. “I have bad news, I’m afraid. The Senate has killed your petition to join. We cannot reapply for another three months. I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon told them.

Rex’s face became blank, while Cody tightened his lips until they were white. “Then we try again,” Rex said.

“I’m afraid the Senate is currently under a wave of anti-clone right sentiments,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Anti-Jedi, too, to be honest. I don’t know if applying again would do you and your brothers any good.”

“We are about to leave the Temple on a mission,” Qui-Gon told them. “Perhaps we can discuss this when we return?”

Cody flicked his brown eyes down at Qui-Gon’s lightsaber and raised his eyebrow. “You expecting to fight, Master Qui-Gon?” he asked casually.

“While I hope to the Force it will not come to that, it’s almost certain that I will have to draw my ‘saber,” replied Qui-Gon sombrely.

“Hmm.” Rex narrowed his eyes at the tall Jedi Master. “Then we shall accompany you. We will not allow you to go into combat without someone to watch your back.”

Next to him, Obi-Wan nodded once in agreement. “Don’t you dare argue, Qui-Gon Jinn,” he whispered as Qui-Gon opened his mouth to argue. “I don’t know what’s coming, and I can’t promise to keep us both safe. Not if what you’ve told me about him is true.”

“You don’t even know what our mission is,” protested Qui-Gon to the clones. “If we fail today, the clones will never join the Republic.”

Cody’s lips parted in a terrifyingly grim smile. “If we are free men, Master Jedi, then we make this decision for ourselves. We wish to serve you in this, and we offer you our skills freely. It would be a dishonour to us if you refuse.” Rex nodded beside him, his face hard and serious.

What could he do but accept? All he had wanted was to ensure the clones were free beings, and now they were seizing that opportunity. Qui-Gon brushed a hand over his beard and clapped both men on the shoulder. “Very well. Rex and Cody, it would be an honour should you accompany us on this mission. You will, however, follow my orders. If we retreat, you will do so as well.”

“Aye, sir!” The clones snapped to attention for a moment, then settled into an ease at Qui-Gon’s sharp nod.

“What is our mission, sir?” asked Rex finally. When Qui-Gon finished telling him the plan, his eyebrows crept up for a moment and swore under his breath in Mando’a. Cody’s eyebrow twitched in shock.

“My feelings exactly,” Obi-Wan muttered, but the sound was drowned out by the hissing of thrusters as the transport ship touched down on the platform.

*

The Jedi trickled into the Senate dome, none in more than a group of three, through the various entrances used only by messengers and pages, not diplomats. Qui-Gon ensured that the members of his group were properly hidden in the Force before directing them into the building. After the last pair had left, he and Obi-Wan, flanked by the helmet-less Rex and Cody, entered the Senate dome through the main entrance. A session was scheduled for midmorning and the traffic in the dome was busy and constant. They earned more than a few interested and curious side-eyes and several accusatory glares from various Senators as they made their way to the Naboo senatorial offices. One tiny page was so fascinated by the clones that she walked into a large Mon Calamari assistant.

The Naboo office doors slid open at their arrival, and they were ushered in by a grim-faced handmaiden whose name Qui-Gon could not place with her face. Mace and the other High Councilors waited in a rough semi-circle. Only Yaddle was missing; she had drawn the short straw for the task of remaining in the Temple, holding their tenuous proof against the Sith, in case of catastrophe. “You brought friends,” Mace stated flatly.

“We are here to keep Master Jinn from harm,” replied Rex evenly.

Mace appeared to ponder this for a second before nodding. “Good. See that you do.”

They waited in silence for a few long minutes before Padmé Amidala, resplendent in a navy robe trimmed with silver filigree and a headpiece that made her a foot taller, emerged from her private office. Her face was as stern as it ever had been during the invasion of Naboo. “Masters Jedi,” she greeted them. Upon seeing the clones, her eyes softened. “Rex, Cody. I had hoped you would be safely ensconced with the Gungans today.”

“Our brothers will be safe and free there,” Cody replied. “Today we fight for those who have fought for us.”

Padmé’s mouth curled into a tiny, grateful smile at his words. Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the floor, and the rap was muffled by the carpet. “Fight? Hope to not fight, we must,” he chastised the clone. “Rest our hopes on Senator Amidala, we should.”

“I promise to do my best, Master Yoda,” she replied, “but after I have said my piece, it will be out of my hands.”

Yoda nodded, ears twitching. He walked slowly to the young Senator and waved her down to his level. When she knelt, careful of her dress, he placed his claw on her hand. “Brave, you are, child. Forget your bravery, the Jedi will not.”

“Naboo will never forget that the Jedi came to our aid when no one else would,” Padmé said fiercely, flicking her gaze over to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

Yoda’s ears drooped. “More help to the Naboo, we should have offered. Bound by the Senate, we were. Fought harder, we should have.”

“Perhaps you should have done more,” Padmé acknolwedged. “But what is done is done. Now we can only move forward with an eye to justice. For both of our peoples.” She patted Yoda’s claw and stood. “It is time for us to go.”

Mace cleared his throat, and all the eyes in the room turned to him. “May the Force be with us all,” he offered in blessing. “After you, Senator.”

Flanked by her identically-dressed handmaidens, Padmé set her lips into a flat, grim line and marched out the door. She looked like she was about to meet her executioner.

*

The knot of Jedi followed Padmé until they reached the milling mass of Senators and assistants attempting to enter the dome. To her credit, she did not look back at them as they peeled away and followed a narrow corridor that led to the Chancellor’s holding office. A quick check with the Force by Mace indicated the office was empty and the Chancellor already in place on his podium. The Jedi filed in, edging towards the desk where they could activate the holorecording of the proceedings above. In a small alcove next to the desk, a shiny silver protocol droid woke and squawked at them. “Pardon me, but this area is restricted to—”

Mace lifted his hand and squeezed his fingers to make a fist, and the droid crumpled into a heap. A plume of smoke snaked out of its main control unit beneath the chest plate. Rex and Cody looked impressed. “Get the recording up, please, Adi,” Mace asked, now on alert for any other droids or assistants that could interrupt their intrusion.

“On it,” she replied, her head bent over the desk. A few taps of her long fingers and the transluscent blue projection filled the centre of the room. Palpatine stood on his podium, flanked by Mas Amedda and his long wooden staff, looking bored as he waited for the last few Senators to file into the dome. At last, he checked the chrono and nodded slightly to his Vice Chair. Mas Amedda rapped his staff three times, loud on the microphone, and boomed, “This day’s session of the Senate of the Galactic Republic is now open.”

The first few moments were an agonizing slog through procedure as Amedda offered the minutes of the last session up for passing. Before he could announce the call for old business, however, Padmé made her move. The camera panned to her as the Naboo pod shot up to face the Chancellor’s podium. “Naboo calls for the floor due to an emergency matter,” she announced. A low mutter rolled around the dome, but Mas Amedda nodded very slightly.

“The Vice Chair recognizes the Senator of Naboo and offers the floor,” he replied, seemingly a little surprised.

“Thank you, Vice Chair. As you all may remember, Naboo suffered a great upheaval a few years ago,” she began. As if anticipating the words ‘Trade Federation,’ Lot Dodd maneuvered his pod next to hers, but she offered him a tight, sly smile. She would not be interrupted; she would not give him the opportunity. Qui-Gon shook his head in amazement at the wiles Padmé continued to display in the face of crisis. “Many of our people died. Even more were grievously injured. To this day, Naboo still has not fully recovered from that event. Not long after the event, the government of Naboo set up an independent commission to investigate the circumstances that led to that upheaval,” she lifted her chin in defiance, “and to bring the people responsible to justice under our planetary laws and the laws of the Galactic Republic.

“New evidence has come to the attention of that commission on Naboo, and it is now my responsibility, as the sitting Senator for Naboo and the Chommell sector, to recall the inactive Senator for Naboo and the Chommell sector to face questioning regarding his role during the incident in question.” Her eyes locked onto the old man now sitting on the podium and her voice returned to the flat, challenging tone of Queen Amidala. “Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, your people wish to speak to you. You may come with me to Naboo freely, or you will come under Jedi escort.”

The Senate exploded into shouts, cries, and protests. Padmé did not move a muscle; her gaze was fixed on Palpatine in challenge. He sat in his podium seat calmly, listening to the deafening roar around him. Mas Amedda looked horrified at the entire spectacle. Finally, Lot Dodd managed to stop gaping long enough to take over the speaker system. “You cannot arrest the Chancellor!” he blubbered. “Where is your evidence?”

Padmé’s mouth finally quirked up in the tiniest of smiles. “I’m not arresting the Chancellor, Senator Dodd. I am recalling the other Senator for my own sector, which is within the authority of the elected government of Naboo. I am the other representative for Naboo, and it is my duty to act as my people command. Should you wish to take it up with them, I’ll set up a comm transmission to Theed.”

“This is an outrage!” Dodd yelled.

“Hardly,” Padmé replied calmly. Qui-Gon wondered at this point if the girl was enjoying this, or if her courage was being fuelled by giddy fear.

Mace turned his disbelieving gaze to Qui-Gon. “She was only supposed to call for an investigation into the funding for the clones! That’s all you were supposed to ask her, Qui-Gon! Why do I get the feeling that you’re behind this?”

“Because I am. I wanted to give us one more chance to do this politically, Mace,” replied Qui-Gon. “Padmé Amidala is a smarter politician than we are, and you can thank your Padawan for the reminder.”

“By the look on Obi-Wan’s face, you didn’t tell him, either,” retorted Mace grumpily. Obi-Wan was quirking his eyebrow in annoyance.

“Loose lips sink Star Destroyers,” Qui-Gon quipped. “Besides, I got distracted yesterday.”

Yoda harrumphed loudly. “Another time for discussion, you must find. A solution, Senator Amidala might have found,” he snapped, pointing his gimer stick at the holoprojection, where the roar had died enough for Padmé to continue speaking.

“The rules for recalling Senators are clear. Being the Chancellor does not provide immunity from recall. If you require a refresher on senatorial procedure, my handmaiden would be pleased to send you a copy. Should you wish to change the rules surrounding this matter, you must first change the Galactic Constitution to strip all members of their right to recall their own representatives. And to change the Constitution, you must be aware that would require a two-thirds majority vote of the full sitting Senate. Do you suggest we _change_ the Constitution, Senator Dodd?” Padmé taunted while sounding entirely earnest.

“I-I—” Dodd blubbered, rolling his eyes until they met Palpatine’s gaze. The Chancellor did not move a muscle, but Dodd straightened. “Yes! I call for a vote to reopen the Galactic Constitution to resolve this matter!”

His demand was met with strident applause and scattered hoots of disapproval. The sound system was flooded with calls for seconds from other pods. Qui-Gon heard both Ryloth and Malastare among the din.

“Order! ORDER!” Mas Amedda, his face aghast, pounded his wooden staff on the podium floor. “ _There will be order!_ ” The uproar did not cease, however, and finally Amedda cut the sound system with a violent stab of his finger against a control panel. “Any one who speaks further out of order will be _fined_ ,” he declared with an all-encompassing glare at the surrounding pods. “The call for a vote is out of order, as are the seconds, and will be stricken from the record.”

Padmé turned back to Palpatine, whose face was blank. “Well, Chancellor? Will you come to testify for the Invasion commission of your own accord, or will the Jedi take you into custody on Naboo’s behalf?”

A heartbeat passed where Palpatine’s face hardened, but then he smiled gently. “Of course, Senator. I am both bound by the rules of our great democracy and by the will of our people. Let us go now, then, as a recalled Senator must leave the dome immediately, if I remember correctly. It has been so long since a recall during an active session has occurred. I leave Vice Chair Amedda in my stead.” Palpatine rose from his chair to a mixed tumult of cheers and outraged shouts, and stepped into a smaller pod that descended towards the holding office. The recording’s microphone was overwhelmed with a cacophony of arguing Senators and rang with feedback.

“Here we go,” Mace said. The Jedi ringed the landing pad, faces grim, as the overhead portal retracted and allowed the pod entry. Palpatine’s face tightened as his eyes alit on the High Councilors, and he stepped off the pod before it had fully docked. “Master Windu,” he said, approaching the Korun. “Surely this is not necessary. As I said, I answer the recall to Naboo freely.” He held out his empty hands, and he looked suddenly like an old, weary man. His head angled to catch Obi-Wan’s attention. “Obi-Wan, my dear boy. Surely they haven’t mixed you up in all of this?”

Obi-Wan cocked his head, managing to look like a swaggering pirate and a seasoned Jedi Knight all at the same time. “I was the one who suggested it, Chancellor,” he admitted with a lift of his eyebrow.

“Really.” Palpatine’s voice had gone flat. “What a shame.”

“You will come with us now,” Mace told him.

Palpatine chuckled, a dark and ominous sound. “I see you’ve brought the clones for me to finally meet, Master Jinn,” he said, ignoring Mace entirely and gazing at the men almost fondly. “I would love to say but one thing to these fine testaments to Kaminoan genius: execute Order 66.”

Next to Qui-Gon, Cody stiffened and whispered under his breath, “Good soldiers follow orders.” Then his whole body shuddered. He shook his head as if to clear it and glared at the Chancellor. His fingers tapped against his holstered blaster.

Rex gave Palpatine a withering glare and deliberately spat on the floor. “We’re not your kriffing soldiers, old man. My brothers and I are free men and we choose which orders we will follow. We will not murder Jedi.” He snorted and clapped his hand jovially on Qui-Gon’s back.His other hand ghosted over his blaster. “I guess this last ditch plan is a bust, eh?”

Mace smiled at the look of genuine surprise on Palpatine’s face. “Yeah, we had those inhibitor chips taken out. Next time reroute your calls more carefully. We wouldn’t want any accidents, would we, Darth Sidious?”

A hatefully crimson blade snapped into existence almost before Mace had said the final sibilant. Twelve Jedi lightsabers answered, filling the holding office with bright light and deep shadows. There was no turning back now, no chance for a victory over the Sith without bloodshed. Palpatine—no, _Sidious_ —whirled to meet Mace’s violet blade and simultaneously sent a brutal Force shove around the room like a shockwave. Qui-Gon skidded across the floor, feeling the sharp throb in his chest as the dark side called to its wielder. He was the last to recover his footing; Dooku, Mace, and Yoda were already engaging Sidious in a fierce melée of ‘sabers and blurred Force-enhanced movements. Plo Koon attempted to swipe at Sidious’ back and was flung over the Chancellor’s desk, breathing mask askew. Sidious, ringed by the three Jedi, leapt out of their circular attack, twisting through the air and landing in the centre of the room. He had just enough time to bring the Force to bear. Electricity crackled in the air, making all the hairs on Qui-Gon’s arms and neck stand on end, and blinding blue lightning branched from Sidious’ fingertips. Adi Gallia, Eeth Koth, and Ki-Adi-Mundi bore the brunt of the electrocution with matching shrieks of agony. Yoda darted in front of Mace and managed to catch the energy meant for the Korun in his claws; it coalesced into a burning ball of light before the green Master hurled it back at Sidious’ head. Sidious caught it on the tip of his lightsaber, where it burst into a shower of sparks.

Sidious smiled. The sickly yellow and red of his eyes gleamed in the light of his ‘saber. “You’ll have to do better than that, Grand Master of the Jedi,” he chortled. “It’s a shame that you refused to accept my friendship, my dear Obi-Wan. You would have made a much better apprentice than the grave disappointment that was Krell.” Without turning around, Sidious picked up Evan Piell and Saesee Tiin with the Force and launched them against the wall. Two sickening crunches met Qui-Gon’s ears.

“Do we fire?” Rex whispered to Qui-Gon, hefting his blaster.

“Not yet,” he replied under his breath. “You won’t get through his defences, and the chances for ricochet are too high.”

“If I get a shot, I’m going to take it,” Cody insisted.

“Not _yet,_ ” Qui-Gon hissed.

The platform on which the pod rested squealed against its moorings, then began to ascend towards the Senate chamber. The portal swirled open, revealing the enormous chamber above. “He’s escaping!” Depa cried as she jumped onto the edge of the platform. Mace, Dooku, and Yoda moved to engage Sidious once more, and Obi-Wan leapt onto the platform just before it rose into place and sealed the holding office once more. All Qui-Gon had seen was a blur of a crimson blade meeting every Jedi ‘saber. He did not dare contact Obi-Wan over the bond. He did not dare distract him. “Get that platform back down here!” he ordered Cody, stabbing his finger in the direction of the desk.

Cody ran to the desk, flanked by Rex, and his fingers flew over the computer interface. Qui-Gon reached out with the Force to check on his friends. Adi and Ki-Adi were alive but unconscious. Evan was groaning against the wall, insisting that he was fine, but Saesee was unmoving. Qui-Gon ran to the Iktochi Master and checked him with gentle fingers, but his head was bent at an unnatural angle. Saesee was dead. He could not tell for sure about Plo, so he hurried to the desk, tamping down his grief, and knelt next to the Kel Dor while ignoring the sharp pang in his chest. “Plo? Plo?!” His fingers fumbled with the man’s hissing antiox mask. Once Plo’s face was covered again, he gasped into the mask. “Stay down, Plo,” Qui-Gon instructed.

“My mask is damaged,” Plo replied weakly. “And I think my elbow’s been shattered. I’m not going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

“The computer’s been encrypted,” Cody called over his shoulder. “I can’t get to the platform controls.”

Overhead, Qui-Gon’s sensitive ears could pick out the hum and sharp blows of lightsabers. “Then I do this the hard way. Watch yourselves.” He unclipped his lightsaber and thumbed the activation control. The bright green blade, his companion on more missions than he could count, snapped out; he could almost feel the crystals inside chiming to him, happy to be of use again. Rex and Cody stepped away from the long blade, and Qui-Gon thrust it into the computer console in a spectacular shower of _pops_ and short circuits. The maglocks of the platform responded with loud clicks. He deactivated the ‘saber and closed his eyes. The Force was there, waiting for him as he held out his hands and _pulled_. The platform groaned and shrieked against his touch, shuddering down towards the holding office floor in fits and starts.

The chamber above was simply a deafening, writhing mass of terror and confusion. The noise and turbulence in the Force washed into the holding office, drowning out the sound of plasma meeting plasma. Four feet above the floor, the platform finally resisted Qui-Gon’s pull and ground to a halt. His eyes could barely follow the battle as the Jedi fell in and out of the fray. Mace’s face was a rictus of anger in the throes of _vapaad_ as he hammered blow after blow against Sidious. On the edge of the platform, Depa lay face-down, and Qui-Gon could not tell if she was breathing. Constrained by the terrain, Yoda’s usual acrobatics came few and far between, but even so the old Master looked tired. Dooku offered a vicious thrust at Sidious’ heart, but the Sith Lord slithered back like a viper and cast another bolt of Force Lightning at Dooku. Slowed by the continued fight, Dooku failed to deflect it completely with his lightsaber and shrieked, arms and legs stiffening under the pain of electrocution. Biting his tongue to keep from crying out, Qui-Gon willed his Master to recover, to shake out his limbs and raise his blade again. As if hearing Qui-Gon’s urging, Dooku’s face fell into a glower, teeth gritted against the pain. He tested his ‘saber arm and dove back into the fight.

Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, his copper Knight, his husband, fought more fiercely than his duel with Maul. He was going to get himself killed. Sidious shoved him with the Force, hard enough to push Obi-Wan off the edge of the platform, but Obi-Wan landed with a roll on the holding office floor. _We need a distraction,_ he sent. _He’s too good, Qui._ Before Qui-Gon could answer, Obi-Wan bent his knees and leapt back up onto the platform to allow Dooku to regroup properly.

A distraction.

The scar on his chest throbbed angrily, out of sync with his heart beat.

_Dark calls to dark._

Qui-Gon turned to the clones. “If you see your chance, take it,” he instructed them. They nodded gravely and fitted their helmets over their identical faces.

With a deep, calming breath, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sank into the Force. He pulled on its edges and cloaked himself with that power, letting the darkness of his injury broadcast into the room. Through the sight of the Force, he could see Sidious—a pillar of the darkest black flame, swirling and on the brink of consuming the columns of light that were the Jedi surrounding him. Qui-Gon met shields of the hardest duracrete, slippery and odious. Nothing stopped him. Instead of retreating, just as any sane Jedi should have, Qui-Gon _attacked._

No push, no infiltration of any mind, not even Krell’s, could have compared. Qui-Gon beat on Sidious’ shields with everything he had. Every ounce of Force power he could bring to bear became knives, and hammers, and acids to break into the Sith’s mind. He assaulted the other man’s mind, pushing as hard as he could, shoving and scratching until—there, maybe just _there—_ and then Sidious was shoving _back._ The hatred and power overwhelmed Qui-Gon’s Force-sense, making him stagger under the weight of it. His chest was tight, squeezing against his heart. He could not breathe. In the back of his mind, he wondered idly if this was what death really felt like.

_Don’t you fucking dare!_ screamed Obi-Wan, filling his ears and drowning out the deafening hurricane of Sidious’ mind.

So Qui-Gon fought. He fought harder than he ever had. He felt his lightsaber in his hand, felt his thumb activate it. He cut through the darkness overwhelming his mind with a blade of the Force, shored up with the strength that came from Obi-Wan’s constant presence, and snapped open his eyes just as four lightsabers skewered Sidious’ body. Yoda, Dooku, and Obi-Wan had all thrust through the Sith Lord’s torso, delivering killing blows to the heart, lungs, and liver. Mace shoved his lightsaber up to the hilt into Sidious’ neck, and the purple blade shone from the crown of the Sith’s head. From behind him, two blaster shots blackened Sidious’ eyes as Cody and Rex took their promised shots. As one, the Jedi pulled out their blades, and Sidious crumpled to the platform in a pool of Chancellor’s robes.

The darkness that was Darth Sidious battered Qui-Gon, latching onto his mind and refusing to let go. It ripped gouges in his shields, leaving ragged, vulnerable edges. Reaching deeper into the Force, further into his own psyche than he had ever gone, Qui-Gon found that moment of peace with Obi-Wan in the Room of a Thousand Fountains once more. He found the joy and love and ease that would always be there for him if he but sought it, that he had worked so hard to discover. It effused through his spirit, shining so brightly that the darkness could do nothing but flee. As it was forced out of Qui-Gon’s own mind, it raked its claws and gnashed its teeth, leaving a ruin where a Jedi Master’s mind had once been.

But it did flee.

Head screaming in agony, the darkness gone, Qui-Gon sank to his knees. His knuckles were white around the handle of his lightsaber, unable to loosen his grip. Every muscle ached under tension. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and his scar felt like it had torn open completely.

The Jedi, not taking their eyes off the Sith’s unmoving form, hurried off the platform. Before Mace jumped down onto the floor, he glanced up into the Senate chamber and used the Force to carry his voice to the top of the dome. “ _NOW!_ ” he cried.

The echo of his voice was lost as Sidious’ body exploded in a rush of blinding light and crackling energy. The air was thick and choking with the taste of ozone as the Sith’s energy swirled around its former container. From above, Qui-Gon could feel the sudden appearance of hundreds of Jedi as they emerged from their hiding places in the Senate dome and threw off the cloak of the Force as one. The electricity in the holding office intensified, heating the platform until the tang of hot metal filled Qui-Gon’s nostrils. Far away, as if through water, he heard Obi-Wan yell, “Get him out of here, Cody!”

Strong, armoured hands were tugging at his arms, dragging him away. He could not protest, or even help. He watched through heavy eyelids as his exhausted friends closed their eyes and held out their hands towards the malevolent ball of energy that was quickly filling the room. With the last of his strength, Qui-Gon stretched out a wobbling arm and added the shred of the Force he could still wield to the Jedi Order’s effort. The Sith’s energy filled the room, burning his retinas and clogging his lungs in a deafening blast.

As he sank into unconsciousness, he was greeted only by ringing in his ears and static in his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, folks! Lots of thanks to the lovely Sanerontheinside, who checked over this chapter for me, and any errors are mine. I have a super anxiety-inducing doctor's appointment today, so lots of comments would help me stay distracted and calm, okay? Thanks (and if you're going to tell me you hate it, save it for tomorrow, please). Only one more chapter left in this ridiculous story!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day dawns without Chancellor Palpatine.

There had been hands, so many hands, cradling his body. Someone with large hands, callused from lightsaber work, was holding his hand and stroking his knuckles. As he tried to open his eyes, his senses were assaulted with frantic screams and panicked shouting.

_They’ve murdered the Chancellor!_

_Where did they all come from? I didn’t see them before!_

_The Chancellor! Did he have a lightsaber, too?_

_TREASON! IT IS A COUP!_

_Was that explosion a terrorist attack? Was it even an explosion?_

_Where have the Jedi gone?_

_The Chancellor is dead! Oh, gods, he’s dead!_

_We must evacuate before they come for us, too!_

_The Chancellor had a red lightsaber! He was fighting the Jedi!_

He managed to make a strangled noise in his throat as the broadcasting thoughts of thousands of terrified Senators crushed him. Someone—maybe Obi-Wan? He could no longer hear actual sound over the internal noise—said insistently, “Help him shield, damn it!”

The cool, hard feeling of Yoda’s claws settling on his forehead brought instant relief.

“Sleep now, you must, grand-Padawan.” The words were followed with a gentle Suggestion, which Qui-Gon was unable to resist even if he had wanted to. With Yoda’s order came the silencing of the voices and welcome oblivion.

*

“Qui? I need you to wake up now.” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft but insistent with an underlying note of concern that drove Qui-Gon to force his eyes open. Instead of the floor of the Chancellor’s holding office, he was lying on what was unmistakably a medical bed. Only a drawn curtain afforded them any privacy. Beyond the fabric, Qui-Gon could hear a chorus of voices giving orders and running feet thumping through the Halls of Healing.

“Hmm?” he managed to say.

A sweet smile of relief was Qui-Gon’s reward. “Hello there,” Obi-Wan said. Dark circles jarred against his pale, wan skin, and there may have been a new wrinkle permanently etched between his brows.

“Hi.” His throat was parched and his voice sounded like a strangled bantha.

“I know you’re probably feeling awful.”

“You can’t feel my epic migraine?” replied Qui-Gon hoarsely. “Or what must be stitches in my chest, given the unbearable itch?”

Obi-Wan’s face fell slightly. “I can’t feel anything over the bond. It’s just static. I don’t know what you did, Qui, but—”

“I fought him.” With a groan, Qui-Gon moved his arm and tapped his forehead with the tip of his finger. “In here. Your distraction.”

“It worked, love,” said Obi-Wan proudly. “It was less than a half a second, but you did it. He hesitated just long enough for us to get through his defense.”

Qui-Gon groaned. “It felt like an eternity. He was going to crush me. Like a tiny bug. After you turned him into a pincushion, he was in my brain. I had to … expel him.”

“Oh, gods, Qui, no one knows that.” Obi-Wan’s expression was mixed horror and sympathy. “Are you—”

“Is everyone okay?” he interrupted.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Master Tiin’s dead. Master Billaba has a fractured skull, but she’s recovering. The rest are fine, if a bit bruised. I think we got lucky, and had we not known he was a Sith, there would be a lot more casualties.”

“I—”

Suddenly the privacy curtain was flung back, and Healer Abella stood with her arms crossed over her chest, glowering at Qui-Gon. Her mane was mussed, as though she had not seen a comb in a few days, and her eyes blazed. “You are the biggest fool I have ever met, Qui-Gon Jinn. You are a deeply stupid, reckless, idiotic man and I curse the day I first laid eyes on you,” she hissed. “If I had any colleagues who I truly despised, I would reassign you to them in a heartbeat.”

“Worried about me, were you?” He offered her a small smile.

She chittered something high-pitched in Chitanook that he was pretty certain meant “furless asshole.”

“Thank you for caring, my friend,” he replied fondly.

Abella growled low in her throat and ignored him. “Obi, get him up and walking. We need to get him out of here. He’s the last patient on the ward, and the transport is leaving in an hour. You need to help him shield.”

“No repulsorchair?” Obi-Wan replied, surprised.

“They’ve all been packed or are in use by patients who really need them,” she said with a sniff. “He may have damaged shields, but his feet work. Besides, ambulating promotes healing. I’ll check on the stitches once we’re aboard.”

“You know how much I hate stitches,” grumbled Qui-Gon. “They itch worse than bacta.”

“It’s not my fault that your scar won’t take bacta on its own,” Abella retorted. At his resigned sigh, she modulated her tone. “I promise I will take them out as soon as I possibly can, Qui-Gon. Healer’s honour.” Qui-Gon nodded reluctantly. The itch was going to be maddening.

“Okay, ‘Bella. We’ll manage. Do you need any other help?” asked Obi-Wan.

She shook her head and dragged her hand through her mane, leaving a chunk sticking out at an odd angle. “No, but thank you. We’re packing up the last of the crates now, and we have plenty of Padawans helping. I even have some older Initiates running as gophers.” She patted Qui-Gon’s knee. “Get on that transport. I’ll see you later.”

She headed back into the fray of medical equipment and sealed, marked crates. Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan’s hand. “What transport?”

“If you get up, I’ll tell you,” replied Obi-Wan cheekily. Together, they managed to get Qui-Gon into a sitting position. The room spun a bit. Between his head and his scar, he was a mess of pain. He grimaced, and Obi-Wan carressed his cheek softly. “I’m sorry, you can’t have any more painkillers for a few hours.”

“I’ll ask Abella for the good stuff the next time I see her, then,” Qui-Gon said through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath, which his scar protested, and slowly slid off the edge of the bed. He let Obi-Wan’s shoulder take the brunt of his weight. His body held up, but his joints ached and the room refused to stay still. “Now, what’s this about a transport?”

They shuffled out of the Halls of Healing, narrowly avoiding a collision with Anakin, whose eyes were glued to what looked like a cargo manifest. The curly-haired Padawan wheeled back, stuttering an apology. “S-sorry, Qui-Gon. I was in a hurry.” He peered at the Jedi Master and wrinkled his nose. “Should you be up?”

“Probably not,” Qui-Gon replied dryly. “But apparently there’s a transport I’m supposed to be on.”

Anakin flicked his eyes at Obi-Wan, then nodded. “Yeah. I won’t be on that one. Mace and I will be the last ones to leave along with a few other Councilors. Uh,” he paused to fish out a data chip from his belt pouch, “this is for you. From Padmé. She sent it to me, but it’s addressed to you. I guess she wanted to make sure you got it?” Anakin held it out. Qui-Gon looked down and realized he was wearing ward pyjamas.

“I’ve got pockets,” Obi-Wan murmured, plucking the data chip from Anakin’s hand and squirreling it away in his own belt pouch.

“Thank you, Anakin.”

“No problem,” replied the boy. “Uh, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get this to Healer Abella.” He darted around them without waiting for a reply.

“Come on. It’ll take us forever to get to the landing platform at this pace,” Obi-Wan said good-naturedly. Together they shuffled out of the Halls of Healing, taking frequent breaks to allow Qui-Gon to breathe through his pain and close his eyes against the dizziness.

They had stopped in front of a large, curved window that looked out onto the Coruscanti skyline. In the distance, Qui-Gon could see the shape of the Senate dome. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he ground out between slow breaths.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s too much to tell. I’ll show you once we board the transport.”

“Transport … to … where?” With a grimace, Qui-Gon put one foot in front of the other. Obi-Wan hitched Qui-Gon’s arm a little more snugly around his shoulder, but hesitated in answering. Frustrated, Qui-Gon tried to speak to his husband mentally, and was met with the equivalent of a hammer to the back of his skull. He stumbled, biting his lip to keep from crying out, and Obi-Wan swooped to catch him before he fell.

“None of that,” he soothed, a little sternly. “Your shields have been nearly destroyed. The bond is still intact, but you need time to rebuild your mental strength. Talking aloud will have to do for now.”

All Qui-Gon could do was nod in agreement. He let Obi-Wan rearrange his arms to better bear Qui-Gon’s weight. “There. Ready?”

“Yes, but I want you to answer my question.”

As they made their slow trudge up the corridor, Obi-Wan spoke in a low voice. “We’re bound for the Temple of Eedit.”

A small smile curled Qui-Gon’s lips. “That’s a lovely place to go. I’ve been before. It’s like being simmered in the Living Force. How long are we going for?”

Obi-Wan peered at him and sighed. “I think you might be on the good drugs already, Qui.”

“No, I’m definitely not. I know my painkillers.”

“We’re going to Devaron permanently,” Obi-Wan stated, his eyes firmly focused on the corridor ahead. “The Jedi Order has been expelled from the boundaries of the Republic. We’ve been given a week to evacuate all Republic worlds and until the end of a second week to leave Republic space.”

“ _What_?!” hissed Qui-Gon in disbelief. Obi-Wan stopped at the bank of ‘lifts and pressed the button on the wall. The first door swished open, and they hobbled inside. “ _Expelled?_ ”

The deep sadness etched into his husband’s face was too much to bear. Qui-Gon closed his eyes. He felt Obi-Wan lace their fingers together, and Qui-Gon squeezed them as if they were the only thing anchoring him to the ground. “Devaron is a Republic world,” Qui-Gon whispered in protest.

“I’ll show you everything, Qui. I promise. Just—let’s just get on board the transport, okay? You need to be in bed before you fall." He grimaced. "I should have pressed her for a repulsorchair.”

When Qui-Gon did not argue, the furrow between Obi-Wan’s brows deepened. His grip on Qui-Gon’s hand did not loosen even as they left the ‘lift and began passing clusters of Jedi on the landing platform. As the pair slowly shambled towards the boarding ramp, Jedi stopped what they were doing. Each paid their respect to a surprised Qui-Gon; those nearest to him stretched out hands to lay upon his shoulder for a fleeting moment, while those farther away bowed to him. The noise on the platform hushed as he and Obi-Wan walked, which made it even more obvious when a high-pitched voice called, “ _Master Qui-Gon!_ ”

“Oh, child,” Obi-Wan muttered fondly under his breath as the orange and blue blur that was Ahsoka Tano leapt over a crate and ran towards them. She skidded to a halt before crashing into them, her face a mixture of a beaming, relieved smile and deeply concerned eyes.

“Are you okay, Master Qui-Gon? No one would tell me anything because I’m ‘just an Initiate, not anyone’s Padawan yet.’” She lowered her voice at the quote, and managed to sound eerily like the current crèchemaster.

Qui-Gon managed a small smile for the girl. Her love knew no bounds, apparently, and it was a privilege, if a touch exhausting, to be on the receiving end. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’m not okay right now, Ahsoka, but I will be.”

“Master Obi-Wan, you had better take good care of him,” she warned him seriously. “Master Dooku will be upset if you don’t.” She paused, as if rethinking her answer. “ _I’ll_ be upset if you don’t.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” replied Obi-Wan, struggling to keep his affection for her out of his voice. It just made him sound gruff, and Qui-Gon huffed out a breath to keep from laughing.

“Thank you, Master Qui-Gon,” Ahsoka said formally with a proper bow. “We are all in your debt for your part in destroying the Sith.” When she straightened, she ruined her perfect Padawan’s bow by stepping closer and gently wrapping her arms around his waist. Someone in the nearby crowd sighed loudly in exasperation. Before Qui-Gon could even move, she pulled away and ran back to her tasking on the other side of the landing.

“What are we going to do with her?” Qui-Gon murmured as they continued their arduous journey consisting of ten more meters to the ramp.

Obi-Wan snorted. “You get to play the doting grand-Master I never had. Sneak her candy. Tell her all the embarrassing stories about me when I was a Padawan.”

“Teach her sabacc?”

“Not a chance. That’s my job. I also reserve the right to teach her to swear in at least five languages while simultaneously admonishing her for swearing.”

Qui-Gon’s foot hit the ramp. Bending his knee and pushing his weight up the steep incline made him gasp with the effort. “And you said you weren’t ready for an apprentice,” he joked through the pain. Obi-Wan moved his hand to grip Qui-Gon’s waistband in an attempt to help him along. By the time they reached the top of the ramp, Qui-Gon had broken into a cold sweat and his breaths were coming in laboured gasps.

“Almost there, love,” Obi-Wan encouraged him. “Almost there. A few steps more, and then you can sleep. I promise.”

Nodding but too tired to say anything, Qui-Gon managed to drag his feet to the tiny berth that displayed his and Obi-Wan’s name on the door control panel. Obi-Wan managed to keep a grip on him as Qui-Gon collapsed on the bed in relief. Between the two of them, they managed to get Qui-Gon arranged on the bunk, which surprisingly had enough length to accomodate Qui-Gon’s large frame. “It’s a miracle of space travel,” Obi-Wan noted drolly as he pulled the slippers from Qui-Gon’s feet and tucked them in a drawer under the bunk.

“And all I had to do was beat a Sith Master out of my head,” said Qui-Gon. He winced at his growing headache. “Honestly, I would take short bunks for the rest of my life than do that again.”

Obi-Wan snorted and retrieved the blankets from the other bunk drawer and made a fuss over shaking them out before draping them over Qui-Gon’s body. Noticing his silence, Qui-Gon pushed the issue that he knew Obi-Wan was trying to avoid. “We’re here now. I’m horizontal. Show me.”

With a deep sigh, Obi-Wan pulled out a data chip, identical to the one Anakin had given him, and popped it into the berth’s tiny computer terminal. He tapped a few controls and a transparent blue holorecording appeared. The entire berth was awash in pale blue light. A tiny Mas Amedda stood in the Chancellor’s position on the podium facing Lott Dod in his repulsorpod. “The entire Jedi Council is directly responsible for the murder of Chancellor Palpatine, the duly elected leader of this great Republic, in full view of this Senate! It is clear that the Jedi are acting upon their seditious whims, first with the creation of a clone army bred for their use and ordered by Jedi Sifo-Dyas, and now with the assassination of the leader of the Galactic Republic! I call for an immediate expulsion of the Jedi Order from every Republic world and from every inch of Republic space! I have a message from the Chancellor himself!”

His proclamation was met with a cacophony of cheers. Dod fiddled with a control on his repulsorpod, and a giant projection of Palpatine materialized in front of Dod and began to speak. “My friend, if this message is transmitted to you, it is because something has happened to me.” Palpatine sounded anxious and afraid. “I-I fear that I have overstepped in supporting the Jedi Neutrality Act. I thought I could do some good in this, by separating the Jedi from the influence of the Senate, and yet, that is not how some in the Order have reacted.” He took a noisy breath and looked askance, off the recording. “I now fear for my safety. The Jedi have powers that are mysterious and uninvestigatable. If you receive this, Lott, then I beg of you: do not allow the Jedi to investigate what has happened to me, for I am afraid that they are the ones responsible.”

Beside Dod, Bail Organa maneuvered into place and tried to shout over the uproar. “There has been no formal investigation into what happened!” he protested. “I have sources that have indicated that the Jedi were investigating a Sith working within the Senate, and until we investigate, we should not do anything rash!” A ripple of frightened mutters rolled over the Senate at the word _Sith._

“Rash? Like murder the Chancellor?” Dod retorted.

“Order!” cried Amedda. “I will have order! In accordance with Senatorial procedure, upon the sudden death of the Chancellor, the Vice Chair will wield power until such time as a new election can occur.” More cheers of approval hit the microphone. “Senator Dod, will you yield your motion for expelling the Jedi Order until such time as a full investigation can be done into this matter?”

“I will not, Vice Chair. The Jedi Order is a danger to each and every one of us. They have powers that the ordinary person does not. They can manipulate minds. None of us is safe from their machinations!”

From the lower levels, Padmé Amidala rose to the podium. Her face was grim, but her eyes looked desperate. “I have evidence that Chancellor Palpatine was actually a Sith Lord who was responsible for tragedy that befell Naboo under the Trade Federation’s embargo,” she cried. “The Jedi moved against their ancient enemy in the hopes of saving the Republic from chaos and authoritarianism!”

A few cries of support were drowned out by the boos and squawks of disbelieving protest. Dod actually laughed at her. “The Senator for Naboo is delusional,” he announced. “Bought by the Jedi, perhaps?”

“ _ORDER!_ ” Amedda roared. “Your statements will be stricken from the record, Senators Organa and Amidala, as being out of order.” Padmé clenched her jaw, while Bail looked ready to punch someone. “Whereas the Jedi High Council was witnessed by this entire body as being responsible for the death of Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, a legally elected leader of the Galactic Republic, resolved that the Jedi Order be expelled from our borders for sedition and pre-meditated murder.” The roar in the Senate dome almost drowned out Amedda’s voice. “I will call the vote now.”

The numbers tallied on the bottom of the holorecording, with only two thousand worlds voting against the resolution. Qui-Gon could not take his eyes off that number. “That’s all?” he whispered plaintively. “Of the entire galaxy, only two thousand still support the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan’s face was dark. “There’s more,” he replied softly. He stabbed the computer terminal interface a few more times, and a new holorecording coalesced. It was dated the next day.

“How long have I been unconscious?” Qui-Gon asked, suddenly concerned.

“Two weeks. Abella kept you under in the hopes that your mental shields would repair themselves a bit. Today was the last day of our occupying the Temple before it’s seized by the Republic. This next recording is from yesterday.”

The recording began. In his pod, Bail Organa was flanked by both Padmé and the young, stern Senator from Chandrila, Mon Mothma. “Given this government’s inability to follow the democratic procedures of justice in regards to the Chancellor’s death and the extreme action passed against the Jedi Order, a group that has protected the Republic from both darkness and our own selves for millenia, we have no choice but to signal our intention to secede from the Galactic Republic.” He held up a data sphere. “Two thousand worlds stand with us, and today we take the first step by exercising our democratic and constitutional right to withdraw our memberships to the Republic. We stand together for the rule of law and the democratic principles that guide us, and name ourselves the Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. “Turn it off, please,” he begged. Obi-Wan did as he asked, and the berth darkened. “Gods, Obi-Wan.”

“You need to sleep, Qui,” replied his husband. “The more you sleep, the easier you’ll be able to reconstruct your shields. Maybe this awful buzzing in my head where you’re supposed to be will finally stop.” He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Qui-Gon’s forehead.

“I don’t know if I can sleep now,” Qui-Gon replied. “Put me under?”

Obi-Wan hesitated for a second, then leaned forward and kissed Qui-Gon gently. “Sleep, my love,” he said against Qui-Gon’s lips. The faintest brush in his mind was the last thing he felt before he closed his eyes in relief.

*

The jump into hyperspace woke him, as it always did if he slept aboard ship. The jangly feeling spread over his body and he turned his head towards the rest of the berth. Obi-Wan was sitting cross-legged on the floor in meditation, but he blinked his eyes open and smiled. “That didn’t last very long,” he noted. “You’ve only been asleep for a few hours. It took forever to get out of Coruscant air space.”

“Hyperspace,” Qui-Gon replied by way of explanation.

“Hungry?” Qui-Gon nodded, and his stomach rumbled in agreement. Obi-Wan chuckled. “I’ll go get you something. Meanwhile, you are to stay here and not get out of that bed until I get back, is that clear?”

“Yes, dear.” Obi-Wan stood, stretching his back as he did. “Could you play Padmé’s letter for me? I find I’m rather curious and you have provided no reading materials.”

“Your books are safely packed with our belongings,” Obi-Wan replied as he fished the data chip out of his pocket and stuffed it into the computer terminal. He pressed a few keys. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Qui-Gon watched him go through the transparent blue projection of Padmé Amidala, looking more harried and tired than he had ever seen her. “Master Qui-Gon, I’ve sent this to Anakin in the hopes that it reaches you safely. I’ve only been able to ascertain that you are alive and in the Halls of Healing, so I remain hopeful that you are doing well and I wish you a speedy recovery from your injuries.” She paused for a moment, almost faltering. “I’m not really sure why I’m sending you this letter. Perhaps it’s because you are not my political ally. Perhaps I trust you to keep a secret, because all those years ago you lied to my face and told me ‘the Queen doesn’t need to know,’ and never revealed my secret as far as my handmaidens know.” She chuckled, which brought a small smile to Qui-Gon’s face, but then her face saddened. “I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing for Naboo. Leaving the Republic is terrifying and has serious repercussions for all of our Delegation of 2,000. Or, I suppose we’re the Confederation of Independent Systems for the moment. But I cannot in good conscience remain in the Republic, where the guarantee of rights and freedoms are applied inequally. Fortunately, my people agree with me, and there are other worlds who agree with me.

“The Republic has lasted for a thousand years. History tells us that all civilizations fall eventually.” Her gaze shifted to the side, as though she were looking wistfully out a window. “If a single man was able to poison so many, to turn so many against democracy and the Jedi Order, then perhaps the Republic was already dying. I think the corruption and greed had already eroded the foundations, and I would point at the Blockade of my home as the beginning of the collapse.”

She pressed her lips together for a moment, pensive and troubled, before clearing her throat and returning her gaze to the recording device. “There’s one more thing that I want to tell you, and I had hoped to tell you personally, but there’s no telling when exactly we shall meet again. The Confederation of Independent Systems is giving the Kaminoan clones full citizenship. All the member planets signed a binding agreement to that effect that cannot be revoked or changed, even during our Constitutional convention. The clones can settle on any world, or remain on Naboo if they wish, or even be officially spacefaring—whatever they choose.” She smiled. “The Khomm are very excited to have another cloned society in their midst.”

A muffled voice interrupted her, and she murmured off-camera. “My apologies, Master Qui-Gon. Turns out the withdrawal from the Galactic Republic is more complicated than a flounce in the Senate dome. I have a lot of work to do to make this right. A penance, if you will, for my role in getting the Sith elected Chancellor in the first place. Thank you for trusting me, and thank you for your help.”

The message faded, leaving Qui-Gon alone in a darkened room. His thoughts whirled, but they made his mental fatigue worse; finally he closed his eyes and slipped into troubled sleep.

*

Abella had come and fussed over him, taking his vitals and probing him with the Force, before humming thoughtfully at his chest. “Take the damned things out, Abella, or I’ll do it myself.”

She snorted. “Fine, but you know the drill, no—”

“No sudden movements, wash and bacta five times a day, don’t scratch, come get you if it bleeds again. I _know_.” He sighed in exasperation.

“Cranky,” she admonished.

“I’m exhausted all the time, the government is imploding, I can’t leave this bloody room because my brain can’t take the stress of other people, and my chest itches and hurts _at the same time_. Of course I’m cranky,” he snapped.

Abella shrugged and pulled a pair of surgical snips out of her medkit. “Well, you can do something about your shields when Obi-Wan gets back, and I’m fixing the itchy stitches. I can even give you some more painkillers if you want. Government can wait, despite current evidence to the contrary.”

He peered at her curiously as she pulled a surgical work light over her head and adjusted it on her forehead. “What do you mean, when Obi-wan gets back?”

“He can help you rebuild your shields,” she said, as if the answer were obvious. At his confused look, she wrinkled her nose at him as though he were stupid. “That bond of yours. If there’s two of you in your mind, you can work together. Draw strength from him.”

“You know about the bond?” he said, a little more incredulously than he had intended.

She chuckled. “I’m your Healer, Qui-Gon. Not much gets past me. I have to say, it’s something else,” she said, her voice tinged with awe.

“It’s just our old training bond,” he protested faintly, not knowing what else to say, then admitted, “We never severed it after his Knighting.”

A gruff noise at the back of her throat answered him. “No training bond looks like that. I don’t know what exactly the two of you have concocted, but I hope I can have a bond like yours one day. It’s lovely.”

Obi-Wan returned with tea as Abella was leaving. “I heard, by the way,” she said in greeting. At his raised eyebrow, she chuckled. “Your marriage, Obi, to this stubborn bantha’s ass. Congratulations.”

With a laugh, Obi-Wan hugged his old crèchemate. “I’ll be sure to look for your gift,” he teased.

“Oh, you’ll love it. Traditional Chitanook wedding gifts are left on the couple’s doorstep in the night by the friend who hunted it.” She offered a disturbingly bloodthirsty smile and slipped out the door. Qui-Gon locked eyes with Obi-Wan and mouthed, “Hunted?”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan holed themselves up in the tiny berth for a day, meditating together as they undertook the arduous rebuilding of Qui-Gon’s mental shields. Layer by layer, they worked to renew the protections Qui-Gon needed to function—to block out others’ thoughts and feelings, to protect from influence or invasion, to keep his own thoughts and emotions to himself. Obi-Wan was there, his shining presence offering his strength and keeping a shield tightly over everything until Qui-Gon was finished. When they finally emerged from their meditation, Obi-Wan smiled. _There’s no static anymore,_ he said, keeping his mental voice soft.

_No,_ Qui-Gon said, sitting up gingergly. He leaned forward and kissed his husband. _Just you. Now, let’s get out of this metal box. I’m tired of staring at the ceiling._

*

They were halfway to Devaron when Rex finally found Qui-Gon in the mess hall. “Might I join you?” he asked, motioning slightly with his tray.

“Yes, of course,” Qui-Gon replied. The blond clone slid into the seat across from the Jedi Master and picked up his fork. He eyed the plate suspiciously. “Try the cheese.”

Rex poked at his plate. “Did you know that my brothers and I have been granted citizenship rights in this … Confederation?”

“I received a letter from Padmé Amidala. She mentioned it.” Qui-Gon watched the other man as he stirred his food around his plate. “You don’t seem terribly excited?”

With a sigh, Rex put his fork down and lowered his voice. “I want my brothers to have these rights. What hasn’t been made public is that the Confederation has been, well, ‘asked’ is too nice a word, to _pay_ for the Republic property they’ve claimed. For _us_ , Master Qui-Gon.”

“What?!” Qui-Gon hissed in outrage. A few heads turned his way, and he calmed himself before speaking again. “What more can you tell me?”

“The Republic paid for us, but they’re not getting us. Kamino alerted them to the evacuation of the clones as the completion of the transaction, and now the Republic’s money is theirs, but all of my brothers are on Naboo. So the Republic is demanding payment for ‘stolen goods.’” Rex ran a hand through his shorn hair in bewilderment, but his eyes were angry. “Sen-Padmé Amidala spoke with me an hour ago. She’s asked me to be the clone Representative in the new government. Cody didn’t want the job, so I said yes. She wanted me to know that we aren’t property, but that the Confederation can’t afford any further altercations with the Senate, so they’re going to pay the Senate. They’re going to pay for us.”

Qui-Gon could feel Rex’s hopelessness and feelings of betrayal in the Force, and an idea sprang into his head, fully-formed. “Rex.” The man’s brown eyes snapped to his, as if at attention. “There are two things that you must face now. The first is that money cannot be escaped, no matter how hard you may wish it gone. You and your brothers would not exist if it were not for money paying for your creation, and that is both uncomfortable and true. This is not your fault, but disputes over the amount of money involved with the Kaminoans have fuelled more conflicts than I can name. It is easier and less hostile for the Confederation to simply pay the Republic to avoid a war.

“The second thing that you must face is that you are truly a free man. You and all of your brothers have inalienable, unrevokable rights to freedom. The Confederation has formally agreed to this. You could all pack up and head to Wild Space and never look back if you wish. You could go back to the Republic. You are free, Rex, no matter how much money has changed hands, or by whom. Do your brothers know about the payment?”

Rex shook his head miserably. “No. Just me.”

“Do you wish to stay with the Confederation?” Qui-Gon asked gently.

“My brothers do. They like Naboo, but they don’t quite know what to do with themselves,” admitted Rex.

“Then might I offer a possible solution?” Qui-Gon said. At Rex’s nod, he said carefully, “Perhaps your brothers would be willing to act as a judicial force for the Confederation. This whole situation is fairly volatile, and I’m certain observers and policing will be necessary in certain places. Your brothers would have meaningful work that they have trained for or could easily adapt their skills to learn, get paid for it so they have financial security, and perhaps, Rex, if you feel it is necessary—”

“Yes?”

“You could bargain with the Confederation and have your brothers’ service count as payment for the money. Say, your service for five years wipes the debt out. You would be truly beholden to no one except yourselves.” Rex’s expression had turned to one of surprise, then deep thought. “If you choose to make that bargain, Rex, I would highly suggest letting Master Dooku negotiate for you. When it comes to financial matters, he’s the best there is, and you’ll certainly walk away with the better deal.”

Rex scratched his cheek under his eye and offered Qui-Gon a slow nod. “I’ll think about it, Master Qui-Gon. I appreciate the suggestion.”

“You’re welcome, Representative Rex,” smiled Qui-Gon.

Rolling his eyes, Rex stabbed his fork into a piece of cheese. “Cody had the right of it by refusing this job. I’d rather be a captain.”

*

The Temple of Eedit on Devaron was as splendid as Qui-Gon remembered. He found himself alone more often than not during the day, as Abella had kept his medical condition as restricted to light duty. Not allowed to pick up anything heavier than two kilos or use the Force in anything other than meditation, he was excluded from the harried off-loading of the transport ships. Any time he picked up a manifest to scan the contents of a crate and direct its whereabouts, a younger Knight or even a senior Padawan would pluck it from his hands and thank him profusely for finding “their” crate. After a few incidents, Qui-Gon complained to Obi-Wan, who laughed.

“Abella told _everyone_ that you’re on light duty, and no one wants High Councilor and Sith Destroyer Jinn to hurt himself again,” he said, smoothing Qui-Gon’s tunics with a gentle hand. “Frankly, I think everyone’s terrified of Abella finding out that they let you do anything.”

“I’m not an invalid,” grumbled Qui-Gon.

“No, but you had serious mental injuries that are newly healed, and your stitches only came out a few days ago.” Obi-Wan stood on his tiptoes and kissed the end of Qui-Gon’s nose. “Take it easy.” He narrowed his eyes, and Qui-Gon readied the protest curling on his tongue. “Take it easy or I’ll send Ahsoka to babysit you. Or Tahl. I don’t know which one would be worse.”

Qui-Gon pulled a disgusted face, to which Obi-Wan chuckled. An older Initiate approached them warily, eyeing their public display of affection with childish scrutiny. “Yes, child?” Qui-Gon beckoned.

“Master Windu sent me to fetch you, Master Jinn,” she said.

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows at Obi-Wan. “When did they get in?”

Checking his chrono, Obi-Wan replied, “They’re early, I guess. Go on. I’ll meet you for midmeal.” Qui-Gon snagged his hand before he could slip away, pulling him back for a proper kiss. The Mirialan Initiate goggled at them for a moment, then covered a little giggle with her hand.

“Lead the way, Initiate…”

“Offee, sir.”

The girl led him out of the cargo dock and into the Temple proper, where high stone arches open to the elements let the sun and breeze stream into the corridor. The verdant smell of the lush jungle surrounding the Temple mixed with the warm, dusty stone that had been originally cut and placed with the Force sent a contented shiver down his spine. For a Jedi considered a master of the Living Force, this place was paradise.They descended a stone staircase that ended at a small landing and a wooden door unwarped by time or humidity. “In there, Master Jinn,” the Initiate offered.

“Thank you.” The girl scurried back up the steps as Qui-Gon pushed open the door, which had actual, silent hinges.

The room behind the door was a perfectly circular meditation room. Half the room was a floor-to-ceiling transparisteel window, while the other half was smooth, unjointed stone. The sun was dappled here, filtered through the trees, and it lit the figure of Mace Windu kneeling on a meditation cushion. His bare head was bent and his shoulders drooped. Qui-Gon approached on soft feet and awkwardly knelt down beside him on another cushion.

Mace did not open his eyes or lift his head before he spoke. “The Force sent me a vision, the clearest possible message, and I still failed,” he said softly.

“How did you fail, Mace?” asked Qui-Gon, his voice equally gentle.

“The Republic is a shambles. The Confederation of Independent Systems has risen. The Jedi have been expelled from our Temple, from our Temples, and the galaxy has turned against us,” Mace replied bitterly. He lifted his head and glared at Qui-Gon. “I _failed_.”

“Mace,” Qui-Gon sighed. “Did it ever occur to you that your quest to change things would not lead to keeping the status quo?”

“Of course it did! Getting rid of the Sith was changing things!” protested Mace, but the look in his dark eyes told Qui-Gon that the argument was hollow, even to his own ears.

“Yes, getting rid of the Sith was changing things. But you changed other things, too. You took Anakin as your apprentice and encouraged him to keep his love and empathy. You made sure that Dooku stayed with us instead of becoming Tyrannus. You enabled Obi-Wan to go out and become his own man and be a Jedi Knight, free from the burdens of grief and an unstable apprentice that he was not ready for—and I forgive you for _that_ whole mess, in case you’re wondering. You stopped the Kaminoans from cloning an entire army of slaves loyal to the Sith. You prevented a years-long galactic war. You led us in a victory over the cleverest, most manipulative Sith Lord we’ve ever dealt with and ensured no civilian casualties in a building filled with more than ten thousand people. Without the Jedi containing that energy, Sidious’ death would have destroyed the building and everyone in it.”

Mace was shaking his head. “If only I’d been faster, more persistent in the beginning— Maybe Saesee would still be here.”

“Saesee died doing his duty as a Jedi. So did Toro Kyoga,” Qui-Gon replied. “We will honour them, and we will never forget them. But the rest of us are here, Mace.”

“Then why does it feel like failure?” Mace’s voice was barely a whisper.

Qui-Gon put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “All these little changes have changed the face of the galaxy. The Republic has changed in response to what we did. Maybe it was supposed to change. Maybe this was the intention of the Force. Maybe the Republic needed to change, to end in some way, so that justice and democracy could continue. Maybe the Republic and the Jedi Order were already dying,” he said emphatically. “We were dying, and your vision showed us the path we should not walk. A path of war and suspicion, of Jedi balancing on the edge of the dark side and losing more often than not, of death and oblivion. Mace, you’ve laid the foundation for the continued survival of the Jedi Order. For all you want to second guess yourself for not keeping everything exactly as it was, you’ve ensured that the Jedi will live to serve others. You’ve given us the opportunity to figure out that love and empathy can exist without attachment.”

Mace turned his gaze to the window, where a pair of monkeys were chasing each other through a tree. He sighed heavily. “Perhaps,” he murmured.

A few silent heartbeats passed, and Qui-Gon pushed himself up with a heavy huff of breath. He was almost at the door when Mace said, loud enough for his voice to carry, “Thank you, Qui-Gon. For believing me.”

“The next time you have a vision, tell Depa. I don’t want to hear about it.” Qui-Gon closed the door on Mace’s quiet laughter with a smile.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is folks. That's the end of this particular story. I want to give out most humble and appreciative thanks to my beta, Aryax, whose insightful questions helped me keep this story together, and to Tygermama and Sanerontheinside for their helpful readthroughs when I needed them. I would like to offer my sincere appreciation to Suzukiblu, whose original Mace Windu Unfucks the Timeline gave me the inspiration for this whole shebang. A huge and grateful thank you to Flamethrower for allowing me to abscond with her OC Healer Abella (who was super fun to write and you can have her back unscathed now).
> 
> I want to thank each and every one of you, my lovely readers, for following this story and offering your encouragement by way of kudos and comments. You've just read a novel! If you've made it this far without saying anything, I would really appreciate even a few words as to your feelings on this story. Feedback is how authors improve, and encouragement keeps us writing more for you to enjoy.
> 
> I have another story in mind that follows the end of this story, starring our favourite grumpy old man Master Dooku, so keep an eye out! His redemption arc isn't quite finished yet. You can follow me over on the Tumblr for writing snippets and fic updates at meggory84.


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